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walkingnearfoxes · 2 months ago

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Meet-and-Greet (Homelander x Reader)

You have a run-in with a disguised supe at VoughtCon. It goes better(?) than expected.

Warnings for smut, incels, and pre-season 1 Homelander.

VoughtCon.

It’s your first time going to the annual convention. When its location was announced to the public, you and your friends worked tirelessly to afford tickets and pay rent simultaneously. It wasn’t every year that Vought chose your home city as the base for its biggest convention, and you couldn’t miss the chance to see the Seven in person.

The Seven. The idea of being in the same building as the world’s most famous superheroes was unbelievable. You wouldn’t call yourself a Seven fanatic, but you certainly did well when bar trivia was on superhero lore. No one could blame you for that. Vought did an excellent job making their heroes appear larger than life, and while you weren’t sure you would ever have the confidence to speak to one of them, being in the same space as them was more than satisfactory.

The convention halls are as glorious and overwhelming as you expected them to be. Beautiful booths line the main room in aisles upon aisles. Vendors sell products ranging from Seven plushies to hero-shaped soap to personal devices that make you glad for the convention’s 18 and older age restriction. It is all devastating to your bank account, but a wonderful sight to behold. Your friends had registered you all for a few panels throughout the day, but you’re sure the booths alone would be enough to entertain you.

At some point, you and your friends accidentally separated. They were entranced by a company selling dice, and you lost them in a sea of A-Train cosplayers. It wasn’t too horrible a fate. You would see your friends regardless at the first panel in an hour, giving you plenty of time to peruse VoughtCon at your own pace. Your steps eventually land you at a booth that crafts teas personalized for each Seven member.

You pick up one of the bags of Homelander tea. Stars and stripes decorate the b; his name is written in bold red letters across the packaging. Underneath his name is the tea description - a crisp black tea with red hibiscus, vanilla, and clove.

“Would you like a sample?” The vendor, a woman dressed in a stunning Queen Maeve cosplay, walks up to you with a smile. “That’s our bestseller.”

“I can see why,” You say warmly. “It sounds delicious. Would love a sample, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Of course!” She beams and turns to grab a sample from behind the booth. She carefully hands a tiny cup out to you. “Should be the perfect temperature by now.”

You take a sip. Sure enough, it tastes heavenly. You detect the vanilla first, then encounter the harsher clove. The notes blend perfectly with the hibiscus. It all cultivates into a smooth, strong cup of tea. You let out a slight hum of pleasure as you smile back at the vendor. “Damn. That’s good.”

She opens her mouth to answer, but a man beside you cuts in. “I really think the vanilla was the wrong call.”

You blink and turn to face this conversation intruder. He is one of the many Homelander cosplayers you have encountered today, but one of the least impressive. The padding to the suit is obvious and uneven; his biceps look unnecessarily large while his legs have lost all muscle mass. His blonde wig looks stringy. Worst of all, he is giving the vendor a look that says he knows his opinion is correct. Maybe said arrogance would be more at home on the real hero, but on this half-assed version, it looks pathetic.

The vendor, bless her, smiles politely at him. “What would you change? We’re always open to feedback.”

“Get rid of the vanilla completely,” The man says, a sentence you never thought could be said so pompously. “It’s too soft. Add something like…cinnamon. More powerful.”

“Jesus Christ,” You mutter, earning a snort of amusement from a man beside you.

Cosplay Homelander takes this reaction as an invitation to speak to you. He turns to you, his hands on his hips in an obvious imitation of the real hero. On him, it’s more akin to a pouting child. “The strongest man on the planet needs something more interesting than vanilla.” He declares.

The vendor shoots an apologetic look towards you as other people come up to the booth. You smile and wave her off, allowing her to go and cater to more polite customers. This leaves you with Homelander Lite. You could probably walk away, but this man is just asking for a confrontation - and you’re in a good enough mood to provide.

“Did you actually try the tea?” You ask him, holding up your tiny sample cup for emphasis. “It’s really good.”

He scoffs. “I don’t have to try it to know it’s wrong. He needs something more complex.”

You tilt your head. “You speak for him?”

Another chuckle from the man behind you.

Fake Homelander sputters and then waves his hand. “Look, I know Homelander. He’s the fastest and strongest man alive. He broke the sound barrier when he was seven-”

“Six.”

Your interruption brings him to another stumble. His jaw drops as he looks at you. “E-excuse me?”

You shrug. “If you’re going based on canon, Homelander is six in Origins. Not seven. Remember the scene in the train yard?”

You can see each gear screeching to a halt in Diet Homelander’s head. Before he can muster up a retort, the man behind you makes his presence known. He stands beside you, arms folded across his chest as he stares at the younger man. “I think you should just walk away, buddy,” He tells him. “Can’t recover from that.”

Deflated Homelander looks between you and the man, his cheeks as red as his cape. With an incoherent and aggravated mumble, he storms off. You watch him trail away with a smile of satisfaction; sure, it would have been better if it hadn’t taken another man to get him to leave, but you’ll take the small victory. You turn to the more pleasant stranger. “Thanks for the backup.”

The man grins. He’s dressed in light jeans, a red shirt, and a blue cargo jacket - one of the few people here not dressed as someone else. “Not a problem. That was fun, he says, looking down at the tea still in your hand before looking back up at you. “So. Big Homelander fan, huh?”

You smile back and shrug. “I know enough not to embarrass myself at a con.”

He laughs. “Clearly. For the record, I like the tea too. I think it’s just perfect.”

You look closer at the man’s face. A baseball cap covers most of his hair, but you can still see some blond strands. Even in the hat's shadow, his eyes are a striking blue. You frown, your gaze drifting to one of the massive Homelander banners hanging from the high ceiling. The resemblance is…uncanny. When you look back at the stranger, his smile has turned downright devious. “Darn. You caught me.”

You clutch your sample cup so tightly you’re surprised it doesn’t crack under the strain. “You…no. You’re not…”

The man glances around the two of you. When he seems satisfied no one is listening or watching, he meets your gaze again - and this time, his eyes are a simmering red. You can feel the heat from where you’re standing. You don’t have time to gasp before he blinks them back to normal with an impish smile. “Yeah. I am.”

Your brain short-circuits. You want to ask questions. You want to apologize for existing in front of him. You want to flee. But all you can manage is a quiet voice that sounds nothing like your own. “You…look different without a cape.”

Homelander barks a laugh. “Oh, I think I like you.” Without looking, he takes the cup from your hands and tosses it into the nearest trash bin. “Follow me.”

It’s not a question. He immediately turns and begins walking down one of the aisles. You walk after him in a daze. He seamlessly bends through the crowd, no one wise to the fact that the leader of the Seven is brushing past their shoulders. Even without their knowledge, he is effortless in carving a path for himself through the crowd - and, by extension, you.

Homelander finally leads you to another, much quieter branch of the convention center. He guides you through one door, and then another, before you’re in a silent hallway. You realize each door has a name of one of the Seven on it. No security, but who would try to startle a supe? Homelander stops in front of the door with his name, The Homelander, written in bold red. He opens it with a quiet hum and steps inside. When you hesitate at the threshold, he turns and looks back at you. He looks confused at first, then settles on an amused smile. “Come on. I don’t bite unless you ask.”

Your breath stutters a moment, and by the quirk to his lips, you’re sure he heard it. You step inside anyway.

Homelander’s makeshift dressing room for VoughtCon is a maze of color. In one corner, a pile of gifts from fans has grown tall enough to rival your height. You spy dozens of bouquets, wrapped packages, letters, all yet to be opened or read. A vanity sits in the opposite corner with a mirror, various trunks and, of course, the suit. His classic suit is hanging on a black mannequin without a head, a startling contrast to the real man who led you here. The reds, whites, and blues are somehow twice as vibrant as they were on any of the cosplayers. As you admire it, Homelander removes his hat and tosses it onto the vanity chair. He brushes a hand through his hair before turning to face you. Without the cap, there is no doubting who he is. You’ve seen that stare on screens, banners, and countless pieces of merchandise. You never thought you’d find it staring back at you.

Homelander studies you briefly. “What’s wrong? Never been invited backstage before?”

You huff a laugh that sounds much squeakier than your usual laugh. “Uh…no. First time.”

“First time,” Homelander repeats in an amused murmur. He steps closer, and you resist the urge to move away. There’s something so contradictory in his presence. You find yourself wanting to go to him and run all at once. He seems to notice the inner conflict and shakes his head as if easing frightened prey. “Relax. Your heart’s pounding like a little rabbit.”

Right. Homelander can hear your nerves. You take a slow breath and look at the gift tower as a distraction. “That’s awfully impressive.”

Homelander laughs and turns to look at it, his hands falling to his hips. You remember the poor comparison to him the two of you had chased off outside. “Ah, the adoring fans. It’s a shame I can’t read through all of them, but…it’s nice to see.”

Something about those words seems to ring hollow, as though he doesn’t fully believe what he’s saying - like it’s something he’s rehearsed. You watch him for a moment before his gaze falls back to you. He notices your stare and lets out a huff of laughter. “What?”

“Why are you in disguise?” You ask, gesturing to his outfit. If you ignore the knowing glint in his eyes, he looks more like a soccer dad than a hero. “Do you do this a lot?”

Homelander shakes his head and tugs off the jacket. His arms are strong, but he’s leaner than you expected - especially with his suit standing like a voyeur behind him. “These conventions can get real stale after a decade or two,” He explains. He turns to place the jacket alongside his hat, carefully draping it over the head of the chair. “Sometimes it’s nice to see who your real fans are.”

“And invite them back to your dressing room?” You ask with some revived humor.

Homelander doesn’t answer immediately. He instead takes the time to blatantly look you up and down. You feel a familiar heat in your stomach flicker as he steps back closer to you. This time, seeing the growing hunger across his face, you can’t help but take an unconscious step backwards. Your back hits the wall, and he follows to lean dangerously close to your face.

“Like I said, these conventions get stale,” He purrs softly. “And lonely.”

A million thoughts fight for power inside of you at once. You wonder how often Homelander has done this with other women at other conventions. You confirm with yourself that he and Queen Maeve broke up a year ago, so it isn’t an affair. Are you really moments away from hooking up with the Homelander? It can’t be real. You must be caught in a vivid imaginary scenario and will be back in the vendor aisles any second.

Then, his hand reaches out and takes your forearm. He squeezes gently, and any rational thought in you begins to flatten. His thumb brushes over your smooth skin in a circle. “What do you say?” He asks, his voice dropping further. “Want a more intimate meet-and-greet?”

It’s an awful line, but surely someone of his stature is allowed those lines more than most. You finally smile. “How could I say no?”

“You couldn’t,” He murmurs back, and presses his lips to yours. At first, his kiss is gentle. He kisses you like he’s trying to memorize the curves of your lips. You give yourself to it readily, returning the kiss with a sweetness that cuts a smile into his mouth. Then, when he decides he has you, he becomes hungry. He slips his tongue greedily into your mouth and takes control of the kiss as his hands reach up to cup your face. His hands are warm against your cheeks, and you can’t help your soft moan of approval. You taste his tongue, and can’t help a quiet laugh. He feels it and pulls away a bit, looking almost insulted. “What?”

You shake your head. “No, it’s just…you actually kind of taste like vanilla.”

Homelander blinks, blinks again, and then slowly smiles. This smile is different than his others. For a split moment, it isn’t guarded. “Well…ain’t that ironic?” He murmurs, then eagerly leans in to kiss you again. You respond by resting your hands on his shoulders, pressing tenderly on the tight muscles. He growls against your mouth, an animalistic sound that curls between your legs. One of his thighs slides between yours. It pins you in place against the door, and with a slight nudge, he puts pressure against your crotch that makes you gasp against his mouth. He chuckles and pulls away to begin dotting kisses along your neck. “Sensitive,” He murmurs between kisses and little nips. “Been a while, sweetheart?”

It may have been, but that doesn’t sound very sexy. “You’re just good at this,” You answer instead.

“Flattery will get you everywhere.” Homelander’s smirk is plain against your skin, even as he bites down hard. You gasp at the surprise of his sharp teeth, but he immediately soothes away any pain with a tongue circling slowly over the mark he’s left. He sucks down delicately, and it only leaves you wondering what else that mouth is capable of. He pulls back and looks at your neck to admire his handiwork. “There. A little souvenir for ya.”

You huff a laugh. “A badge of honor.”

“Knew I liked you,” He growls before kissing you hard. He doesn’t break away from the kiss as he hands nimbly finds your pants and undoes the button. He shimmies them down your legs - and your panties along with them - with a practiced ease that again makes you wonder how often he’s pulled this little trick. If he keeps touching you like this, you can’t bring yourself to care much. You aid him by arching your hips and kicking the offensive materials to the side with a little shake. Homelander wastes little time then in kissing his way down your body. He ducks his head underneath your shirt, and you feel him playfully nip above your belly button before his hands find the backs of your thighs. “Up we go.”

Homelander hooks your thighs over his shoulders. Your back is pressed against the door now, your weight entirely on him. The leader of the Seven is on his knees before you. Despite knowing the man is capable of holding up airplanes, a flare of anxiety grabs you. You curl your fingers in his hair - an action that makes him unabashedly groan - and whisper. “You don’t have to-”

“I don’t have to what? Eat you out?” He looks up at you from between your legs with an arched brow. “You’re a fan. You should know I don’t do anything I don’t want to do.”

You don’t have time for a reply before he’s licking a long stripe up your cunt. He groans first at your taste, but your moan of pleasure is quick to follow. Just like his kisses, he starts slow. He takes the time to know your taste and what flicks of his tongue make you twitch in his arms. He eats you out like he has all the time in the world. His hands eventually wander from under your thighs to your ass, squeezing your cheeks with a possessiveness that would frighten you if you weren’t so aroused. He’s vocal, frequently moaning and slurping at you like you’re his dessert. It leaves your legs shaking, and he hasn’t even sped up. Your clit throbs, and you whimper. “Homelander, please…”

He fully stands up, one hand still on your ass while the other presses to your stomach, pinning you easily to the wall. He’s now merciless against your clit, sucking with a relentlessness that has you spazzing against his hold. He’s inhuman with the way he works you. You forget everything about where you are, that several supes in this hallway can almost certainly hear your moans. All you know is that you might lose your mind if you don’t come soon.

And then he stops.

You let out a loud whine of disapproval before you can stop yourself. Homelander laughs, easing you down to bring your trembling legs around his waist. He coos at your expression. “You look like a kid that dropped their ice cream one.”

You squirm, but his one hand on your hip is enough to keep you still. “That was cruel,” You whisper, your voice hoarse.

“Oh, you have no idea,” He murmurs, and kisses you gently. He tastes like you, and you can’t help but groan before he pulls away to speak against your lips. “Don’t worry. I’ll make you come. But you’re not coming without me.”

He kisses you again. You can hear him unbuckle his belt and shuffle his jeans down. Instinctively, you tense. He shushes you, turning to brush his lips against the side of your face. “Relax, babe. Just gotta…” He whispers as he slowly thrusts into you. His cock pushes into your sopping heat inch by inch. You let out a strangled gasp at how he seems to press at each delicate point inside you. As he bottoms out, he throws his head back with a sigh of relief. “There we go…”

He’s thick, a stretch that would have been painful without his diligent prep. Instead of pain, you can’t think straight. You have never felt this full in your life. Your breath comes out in gasps, and when your eyes lock with his, he grins. “First supe dick, huh?”

You let out a shaky laugh. “First supe dick.”

“Well, hang on tight,” He murmurs. His hands cradle your hips as he thrusts up, pushing you up against the door. Your eyes fall shut, but his gaze never leaves your face. He goes harder as he feels your body adjust until he’s fucking you against the door like it’s his last night on this Earth. His hands are surely leaving bruises against your hips, but you relish it. Your head falls back in bliss, a series of moans spilling out you have no control over.

“God, so many sluts out there would kill to be where you are,” Homelander hisses against your ear. “You’re like a glove on my cock, fuck. Take it. You’re fucking mine now.”

It’s unclear if he means for you to hear all of this rambling. He mumbles most of it against your neck, and you’re both too far into this to make much sense of anything. It doesn’t matter. You orgasm regardless, your voice suddenly gone as it vibrates through your body. Homelander gasps against your skin as your cunt clenches down on his cock, and he immediately follows you in climax - as if he had been waiting for you to finish. He finishes inside of you, and it nearly triggers you to a second orgasm with how full you feel.

There’s a knock on the door.

Every muscle in your body tightens, but Homelander doesn’t move. His head is still buried against your neck as he calls out an agitated reply. “What?”

“We’re on in 10, Homelander,” The Deep’s voice calls from the hall, caught between amused and nervous. “But…uh…take your time.”

“Go away, Deep,” Homelander growls, still inside you.

You hear feet quickly walking away, but you still don’t move. Homelander initiates the move for both of you, slowly returning your feet to the ground. His hands remain on your hips as he chuckles and kisses your jaw. “Well…I’m not usually one to wham and bam, but looks like we’re on a time crunch.”

He lifts you off of his cock and deposits your feet back on the ground. He steps away from you to grab your discarded pants and underwear, tossing them to you lazily. “Hurry up.”

You listen, feeling half-drunk. Your underwear is soaked through, and you wince lightly as you pull your jeans over your shaky legs. Only when you’re fully dressed and straightening out your hair do you realize your phone isn’t in your back pocket anymore. You look up. Homelander is holding it and typing away. He looks at you with a smirk as he hands it back to you. “That’s where I’m staying tonight. Room code’s attached. I’ll be there around eight.”

When all you can do is blink dumbly at him, Homelander snorts and takes your shoulders. “Guess we have to save the banter before the orgasms, huh?” He easily spins you to the door, and pats your ass. “See you later, sweetheart.”

You open the door with your phone in hand, stepping outside back into the hallway. You turn to look at him again in your continued daze. “See you.”

Homelander winks, then closes the door. The last thing you see is him walking towards his suit.

You walk in a trance through the forgivingly empty hallway and find your way back to the convention center's main hall. It’s emptied a bit without multiple panels going on, and it isn’t long before one of your friends spots you. She runs up to your side in a hurry. “Dude, where have you been?! We’ve been looking for you!”

You blink. “I, uh…got a bit sidetracked.”

“By what…” Your friend trails off, eyes widening as she spots the hickey on your neck. She laughs. “Oh. That kind of side mission. At a con? You dog.”

Your lips twitch into a smile. Would she even believe you if you told her?

“Give me the details on the way,” She says, taking your hand and pulling you towards another hall. “I don’t wanna miss Homelander’s opening remarks.”

You can’t help but bark a laugh. Right. You’re going to be sitting through a panel led by Homelander with his hotel room on your phone and his come soaking your underwear.

Your friend sees the look on your face and gives you a curious look. “What?”

“I’ll explain later,” You say with another laugh. “Come on. Let’s hear what the All-American man has to say.”

#the boys #homelander #my writing #homelander x reader #homelander x you #im sorry i cant write anything angsty #im always just borderline trolling myself

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amethystarachnid · 11 months ago

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LOVE IN REHERSAL

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance and fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL bingo

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 4k

ᯓ★ TW(s): Y/N has a stalker, Tony's inappropriate jokes, a short make out session, only a few swear words at the end

ᯓ★ Timeline: before the Avengers were formed

ᯓ★ Request: tony stark + fake dating where eventually they end up falling for each other? ( @marcsbutt )

ᯓ★ Comment if you want to be added to the taglist (specify if you want the everything taglist or for a specific character)

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo (requests open)

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

ᯓ★ Not proof read, this took me way too long to write, I'm sorry

ᯓ★ Check note at the end of the story for a news! ᡣ𐭩

Being Tony Stark’s direct secretary meant having a little spotlight on you, but not always a good one.

Every time he arrived late at a scheduled appointment everyone thought it was your fault, that maybe it was you who told him the wrong time.

But you didn’t really care about what others thought, Tony knew that you were good at your job, and that’s what’s count.

You’ve been working for him for more than five years now and you would go as far as to say that you and Tony are friends now…Behind closed doors obviously, in public you always act like the perfect secretary, like you two weren’t laughing in the car for one of Tony’s jokes.

“Y/N, do I have appointments this afternoon?” Tony asks, working on his Iron Man suit in his garage, which is bigger than the typical garage, bigger than your apartment even.

“No, you are free for the first time in the week.” You say, biting the Twix bar, I love these things.

“Perfect.” He says with a smile, “I think I need a beach break, how long does it take to fly to the Hawaii?”

You sigh and quickly check on your tablet, “11 hours, not even the time to land that you’d have to come back, you have a meeting tomorrow at 9.00 a.m. with a possible investor.”

He opens his mouth to say something but you already know what he’s going to say, you hold up your pointer finger to stop him, “I already rescheduled this meeting twice, you can’t miss it.”

He smirks and crosses his arms, leaning back on his chair, “You know me too well.”

You shrug your shoulders, a proud smile on your lips, “Isn’t it my job?”

Your little banter gets interrupted by a notification on your personal phone, you quickly check it and the color drains from your face.

Unknown number

I think going to the beach is a nice idea

You quickly brush it off as being one of Tony’s pranks, “Very nice Tony, you almost got me.” You chuckle.

“Got you what?” He asks, turning towards you and looking genuinely confused.

“The text you just sent me.”

“I didn’t text you, why should I text you? We’re in the same room.” He tilts his head to the side.

“Tell me the truth, did you tell Jarvis to do it?” You say, staring to get annoyed.

“Jarvis, did I tell you to text Y/N?” He asks out loud.

“No, Mr. Stark.” The robotic male voice answers.

“See? What are you talking about?” Tony asks as he walks towards you, you show him the text on your phone, he picks it from your hands and connect it to his computer.

“Jarvis, I think we may have an intruder in the house.” Tony says, but Jarvis tells him that everyone who is currently in the house has been authorized. “Then there must be some mics here.”

Tony’s seriousness is making you worry, “Tony, what’s happening?” You ask confused.

“Someone is spying on me, or on you…Or on both of us.”

“Spying? In like…paparazzi like or stalker like?”

“Aren’t paparazzi just socially accepted stalkers?” He says with an annoyed chuckle, rolling his eyes, “I can’t stand them.” He whispers.

“No microphones or any other unauthorized device detected.” Jarvis voice says through the speakers of the house.

“Is this the first time you get a text like this?” Tony asks, turning towards you. You nod.

“Yeah, first time.” You lean against your chair with a sigh, “Should I be worried?”

“I think so, whoever sent you this message is good at what he does, Jarvis didn’t detect anything suspicious and I can’t find their IP address or anything that can tell me from where the message as sent.”

“Great, a pro stalker is after me.” You chuckle, “But why me? I mean, I am the most boring person in the world.”

Tony shrugs his shoulders, “Men are strange, maybe you looked at him the wrong way and now he thinks you love him.”

“So what do I do now?”

“You could come and live here, you would be safer, he probably knows where you live.”

“I can’t believe this.” You whine and rub your face, “Thank you.”

Tony smiles at you, “Go with Jack to your apartment and take the things you’ll need the most.”

You nod, soon you’re walking out with the bodyguard next to you.

Once you’re far enough, Tony claps his hands. He always searched the right opportunity to get closer to you, to spend time together outside of your work life.

He knows he shouldn’t be happy that you have a stalker, he knows how much dangerous that can be, but it doesn’t mean that he can’t use this opportunity to make you fall in love with him.

While, obviously, tracking down your stalker.

────୨ৎ────

"I think I just had the best night sleep ever." You say as you come down in the kitchen, Tony is already sat at the island, drinking his morning coffee, "I think I should buy a water bed for my apartment too."

"Water beds are very comfortable when you aren't...you know, having an intercourse." You scrunch your nose at his words.

"You're too explicit I swear."

"How? I could've just said sex, but I said intercourse, I think that's very mature of me."

You look at him from the corner of your eyes as you prepare your coffee, "What? Do you want a star sticker for being a mature man?"

"I would really appreciate that, thank you." He finishes the coffe and places the cup in the sink, you sit down at the island and take a sip of your coffee while looking at his appointments of the day on your tablet.

"Are you ready for the meeting with the investor? He'll be here in half an hour."

He looks down at his jeans and polo shirt, "Yeah."

"Tony, you need to look more respectable."

"I'm Tony Stark, I'm already respectable." You roll your eyes at his words, it's almost like you can feel his huge ego in the room. "Did you receive any other message?"

You shake your head, "Fortunately not, maybe it was a one time thing?"

"I doubt it." Tony looks down at the computer in front of him, "I still can't find the source of that message, maybe he'll make a mistake next time he sends a message."

"Why are you so sure that a man is texting me?"

"Call it Iron Man instinct."

"That's not a thing." You chuckle and place your empty cup in the sink, next to Tony's. "Go put at least a pair of formal pants, please."

"I mean, if you're begging me to I don't think I have another choice." He winks at you and your heart skips a beat, why? It's the first time this thing happens with Tony.

Sure, he has been elected most handsome bachelor of the year a few times, and sure, his personalty makes him even more attractive when he isn't a complete asshole, but he's also your boss.

Your friend.

You shake your head, your body reacted that way only because he made a flirty comment and you're a very sensitive person. End of story.

"I'll wait for you at the meeting room." You say as you walk away, clutching your tablet to your chest, trying to make your heart calm down.

As you walk away Tony sighs, he's not used to women not falling at his feet with a simple glance from him, but that's probably why he's so intrigued with you.

Intrigued.

He had gotten over that phase long ago, he is completely in love with you, with the way you talk, act, even walk.

He knows his feelings, the only thing he needs to do now is to tell you.

────୨ৎ────

As Tony and the investor do the final small talk after successfully closing the deal your phone vibrates with a notification.

Unknown number

This kind of things are definitely too boring, just business, business and other business. Come with me, you'll have more fun. We are destined to be together, Y/N, why can't you understand that?

You barely hold in a gasp, but Tony seems to notice that something's wrong anyway, "Thank you for your money, Mr. Jones, but I really need to go, have a great day."

Before the man can answer, Tony is already walking out of the meeting room, passing by the security wards at the entrance and pulling you by your hand. He walks inside his bedroom and gently sits you down on the bed, you're too shocked to even react.

"He texted you again." Tony says as he presses a button behind his bedside table, immediately the room goes into look down: metals comes on the window of the balcony and on the door, "The room is soundproof now, we can't risk being hear anymore."

In that moment it suddenly hits you: this isn't a dream, there's really a man who's following your every move, hearing every word you say.

"Sweetheart..." Tony whispers, worried, as he cups your face in his hands and wipe away a tear with his thumb, when did you start crying? Did you cry in front of the investor too? That would've been embarrassing and totally unprofessional. "Let me look at your phone." Tony says in the most gentle tone you have ever heard him talk in.

"He wants us...To be together?" You say with a shaking voice, "what kind of perverted psychopath has found me?" You hide your face behind your palms.

"Y/N, sweetheart, look at me." Tony kneels in front of you and gently moves your hands away from your face, "I'll protect you, alright? I won't let anything happen to you, do you believe me?" You nod, "great, so now take deep breaths, calm down...In and out, that's right, just like that sweetheart, slow and steady..."

One you have calmed down he hands you some water from the mini fridge in the corner of the room.

"Thank you." You whisper as you feel the cold water run down your sore throat.

"So, all we know is that this man is in love with you in some obsessed way..." He sits next to you on the bed, "He's probably infatuated or something like that..."

"I can't believe this is happening to me." You sob and lay down on the bed, which, since it's made of water, moves under your weight. You feel Tony placing a comporting hand on your knee.

"For what I know this kind of people either loose interest or become even more dangerous when the object of their desire won't collaborate." He gently explain, "So we'll do that, we'll make him so mad that he'll loose control and make a mistake that will reveal him to us."

"How?"

"By revealing that you have a boyfriend." Your eyes shoot wide at his words and you immediately sit up straight, making the water bed move under the both of you.

"But I don't."

"It doesn't have to be a real relationship, we need the stalker to believe that it's real...And what is more perfect than revealing a relationship that people have had theories about for years?" From the way he's looking at you, which makes your heart flutter, you can understand what he's implying.

"You mean us?"

"Yes, we'll fake a relationship, make the stalker believe that it's real." Tony takes your hands in his and squeezes them, "This way we can find a solution while I'm sure you're safe, no place is safer than here."

You look into his brown eyes, who ever said that brown eyes aren't pretty?

"Are you okay with my plan, sweetheart?" He gently tucks a strand of your hair behind your hair.

Sweetheart.

Butterflies fly in your stomach at the pet name, he had already called you that earlier but only now your brain actually registers it.

"Y-Yeah." You nod and you can hear the sigh of relief that leaves his lips.

"I promise we'll find him." He kisses the back of your hand.

────୨ৎ────

"Are you ready?" Tony asks as he adjusts his jacket, sitting in the limousine.

You look down at your elegant dress, which probably has costed him the same amount as your rent, "I think so."

A week ago you revealed your relationship through a soft launch on social medias and, as expected, the internet completely exploded with the news. Right now you are his plus one on one of his usual black tie events, and right outside of the limousine door you can hear the sounds of the paparazzis waiting for you two.

"Any text from the stalker?" He whispers in your ear, you shake your head, ignoring the shiver that ran down your spine at his closeness. "Remind me of what this event is about?"

"It's a jewelry auction." You say before he opens the car door and walk out, immediately camera flashes go off, the become even more as he helps you out of the limousine. "Oh my God, how do you not go blind with all of these?" You chuckle as he helps you put your coat on.

"Habit." He simply says, guiding you towards the entrance of the building while also shielding you from the crowd who really has no respect for personal space.

Once you're inside and have given your jackets to a valet, you walk side by side in the big open space where all the jewelry that will soon be on auction is exposed and heavily guarded.

"My lady." You chuckle as Tony offers you his arm and you wrap yours around his.

"Oh my God, this is so beautiful." You say, pointing at a full set of diamond jewelry: diamond necklace, earrings, ring and even a bracelet. Your enthusiasm dies when you see the piece of paper with the auction starting price on it: 8.000$, you can't even dream of spending that much money on jewelry.

"Do you like it?" Tony asks as he looks down at the set.

"I love it, it reminds me of how I dreamed my jewelry would be in the future at eight years old." You smile sadly.

"I can but it for you." Tony says nonchalantly.

"Tony, it's 8.000." You say as you shake your head.

"Pennies, you mean." He smiles down at you, but before you can suspect why he really wants to buy you that set he quickly adds, "It would be suspicious if I, Tony Stark, left the auction without buying anything...I need to buy something, so I might as well buy something for you." He shrugs his shoulders.

When he got the invite, two weeks ago, he wanted to decline, but then he saw it as the perfect opportunity to show off your relationship.

For the stalker, obviously.

"The auction will start in five minutes, please follow me in the room." A waitress says as she stands in front of you two, Tony nods and once you're in the room he moves your chair for you to sit.

"Such a gentleman." You chuckle as he sits by your side.

"You doubted that?" He asks almost offended, soon the auction starts and you are shocked by how much money the rich are willing to pay for some jewelry.

"Now, the set of diamonds which is the best piece of this evening's collection," The host says, showing the set you had your eyes on earlier, "The bids start at 8.000$."

Tony lifts up the stick with the number 14 on it, "8.000$ for Mr. Stark, anyone else offered 8.500?"

The bids go up quickly until it reaches 20.000$, "Tony stop." You whisper to him.

"20.000 to Mrs. Reynolds, anyone offers more? One..." The host's eyes are practically sparkling from the amount of money.

"For you? I'd never stop." Tony whisper to you before sticking up the stick, "40.000" There are gasps in the room and even the host chokes on air. "I think that set would look lovely on my girlfriend." He adds, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

Obviously, no one offers more and the auction ends with everyone moving to the party on the upper floor.

"You are completely out of your mind." You can't help but smile as Tony hands you a glass of champagne.

"For you? Utterly and completely." He winks and you can't tell anymore if he's joking or not.

What you do know, though, is that you have found yourself falling for him in this short time you've spent acting as a couple.

"Don't do this to me, Tony." You take a sip of champagne, "Or I'll be devastated when we'll have to break up."

Tony's heart falls at the reminder that everything between you two is fake, he finds himself hoping that the stalker would send you another message so he'd have an excuse to play as your boyfriends a little longer.

Your phone beeps and you look down at the notification.

Unknown number

You can lie to everyone else but not to me, I know this is fake.

"Tony..." You whisper and show him the text, he immediately looks around but no one is paying attention to them, no one who he can see, at least.

"Please forgive me, sweetheart." He says before cupping your face in his hands and pressing his lips on yours in a simple kiss, one so soft that it almost made you both believe that you were really a couple, "we need to go, now." He whispers against your lips.

"Wait..." You press your lips on his again, "We can go now."

He wraps an arm around your waist, "In the car, we'll be heard, act like we need to get home immediately to...have an intercourse." He whispers against your hear.

"Why?" You look up at him as he leads you outside.

"Beccasse he made a mistake." He says as he opens the limousine door for you.

You nod and as the car starts you press your lips on his again, this time more passionately, letting your tongues meet for the first time and, as he pulls you to sit on his lap, everything is finally clear to you.

All the times you felt the butterflies in your stomach, the way that you blushed everytime he made a flirty joke, all the time you found yourself sneaking glances at him even before this fake dating thing started.

You were in love with Tony Stark and, from the way he's kissing you, he must feel something for you too.

────୨ৎ────

Tony has to admit it, he wishes the stalker thing would've lasted longer because now, once this is all over, you'll break up with him and he'll lose what has been his source of happiness for the week, hell, maybe you'll even quit the job and he'll never see you again.

"Can you explain me what mistake he made, now?" You ask as you sit on the water bed of his room, your lips swollen and your lipstick ruined form the heated kisses you've shared in the car.

"I had this theory: Jarvis didn't find an intruder in the house but the stalker definitely had to be inside to know everything he knows, and there's only one way for these things to be connected."

"He works here." You say as you look up at him, Tony nods.

"Which also means that he has access to my technology, this explains why I couldn't track him down: when I searched for IP addresses of wi-fi connected to te device I take off from the research mine and the wi-fi in this house, so I could have never found him as long as he kept sending messages from here."

"But at the party he must've sent the message from there, right?" You say as you stand up, Tony nods.

"I asked Jarvis to track him down and send him in my room as soon as we arrived." His voice is interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Mr. Stark? Jarvis told me you wanted to see me." The man opens the door and your jaw almost falls.

Jack.

The bodyguard who has been by your side since you started working for Tony.

That explains a lot of things.

"Jack, one of my most trusted bodyguards..." Tony starts with a smile, "The man to whose hands I left my dear Y/N's life in..."

You glance from Tony to Jack and from the way his Adam apple bops down you understand that Jack knows he's been caught.

"Jack, why did you do it?" You ask in a whisper, "If you had feeling for me why didn't you just tell me like a normal man?"

"Because I know you aren't ready for us." He says as he turns towards you, "I knew you didn't love me back, but I was ready to make you change your mind, you need to understand that we're made for each other." He takes you by your wrists.

"Get your hands off of her!" Tony says as he pushes Jack away.

"You are right, Jake, I would've rejected you." You say as you lift your head, "Because we are not soulmates, my heart belongs to someone else." You glance at Tony and his eyes widen.

"You stupid woman! Why can't you understand-" His words die in his mouth as Tony punches him right in the nose.

"Rot in prison, you fucking psycho bastard." Quickly some guards rush in the room, "Take him away." Tony orders and the men comply.

Tony turns towards you, "So, what were you saying about your heart?"

"I said it belongs to someone." You say as you lean back against the wall, Tony's hands find their place on either side of your head.

"And do I know this someone?"

"Oh yes, very well..." you smirk and wrap your arms around his neck, "He has an ego bigger than his huge bank account, he's funny, and handsome."

"Hm Hm? He seems like the perfect guy." Tony whispers, his lips a few inches away from yours.

"He is."

"So I guess you don't want to break up with me now that we've found your stalker?" He says as he looks at your eyes, then at your lips and then back at your eyes.

You shake your head with a smile, "Don't even think you're getting rid of me this easily, Tony Stark."

"That's fine for me." His lips find their place on yours as he lifts you by placing his hands under your thighs.

He lays you down on the water bed with a smirk, "I have an idea on how we can celebrate this fake relationship turning real."

"By having sex?" You smirk, wrapping your legs around his waist.

"I was going to say intercourse but yes, that's what I meant." He kisses you again and you feel like the luckiest woman who has ever walked on earth.

"I love you." You whisper as he kisses your neck.

"I love you too, Sweetheart."

Hope you liked the story, if you did, please like and reblog or even leave a comment if you want, I love reading your thoughts <3

Would anyone be interested in a (young obviously) Charles Xavier x fem!OC fanfiction? Because I may be writing one ;) lemme know in the comments!! <3

#amethyst arachnid #comics #gaming #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel x reader #movies #tony stark x you #tony stark x reader #tony stark #iron man #iron man x reader #tony stank #tony stark x y/n #tony stark fanfiction #marvel x you #marvel x y/n

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hyperiondickrider · 2 months ago

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Sluts Undercover

Meruem x Reader

Y/N is sent undercover along with Palm to infiltrate the royal palace as Bizeff's slaves. Unfortunately, Y/N is captured; however, Mereum certainly manages to find a good purpose for her!

A/N: Based off of that one scene where the palace invasion team is all scared about what may have happened to Palm >:) I'm aware Meruem does not know his name at this stage in the arc: it's a plot device so hush.

You truly did miss good company.

Palm’s absence was tangible. The stale air did nothing to soothe your worries as you laid awake in the gaudy bed Bizeff had provided. Whilst the soft sheets provided some comfort, the reminder of your purpose and the possible fates of Palm did little to reassure you.

Unlike the rest of the team, you weren’t a nen user. That lack of basic self defense already put you at a disadvantage, but it was necessary for your infiltration mission. Should the Royal Guard detect your presence, or God forbid the King, the worst that would happen is your death. Although, that was hardly reassuring.

But, the image of your determined friends, namely Gon and Killua (bless their souls) was a firm reminder of your objective.

Escape Bizeff, and infiltrate the palace - by whatever means necessary. Lower the guards of the Chimera Ants in anticipation of the extermination squad. Provide medical support throughout the attack, and serve as a distraction. Bait, you supposed.

When Knov proposed your participation in this mission, you were intimidated. Being a non nen user, you mainly worked in the Association, providing medical assistance to Hunter’s between missions, rarely attending one of your own.

And yet, here you lay.

‘Lord, give me courage.’ You prayed silently. Your silken slip left little to the imagination, relying on your hair to shield you from rhetorical evening breeze, as you slowly emerged from your room.

Shoeless, you tiptoed through the town square, the fountain trickling the only noise audible. This place was seemingly abandoned, with the exception of yourself and Bizeff’s other concubines.

With a deep breath, you shook away your goosebumps, and approached the elevator. Quietly entering the code Bizeff has so graciously provided you, (Lord knows the self respect you lost in that endeavour), you felt the elevator ascend, sealing your fate.

Emerging from the elevator, you froze. A most overwhelming terror encompassed your body, shaking your soul within you. Fear wracked your nerves, as your laboured breaths hastened. Quaking on the spot, you gaze darted around the room, pupils narrowed as adrenaline coursed through your veins.

Is this the En Knov described?

No, it can’t be.

As if to answer your indirect question, a figure revealed itself, shadows dancing as he descended the grand staircase.

The man appeared relatively humanoid, should you disregard his twitching antenna suggesting his annoyance, and his frigid lilac skin. As his gaze landed on you, your fear became more intensified within your soul.

“You. You there, little human. What are you doing here?” The Chimera Ant spoke through gritted teeth, eyes narrowed as he gestured at you with a flourish.

Your eyes widened in realisation as his eye contact held you in place. With a small stutter you replied,

“M-my name is Y/N. I’m one of Secretary B-Bizeff’s concubines. I w-wanted to feel some fresh air, and it appears I’ve gotten lost. I do h-hope I’m not intruding…” you trail off, unsure if your half-truthful lie will be enough to satiate the ant in front of you.

“Hmm, very well. I believe it is my duty to take you before my King.” Either your submission and politeness has pleased him, or your mere presence greatly irritated him, as he grips your wrist in a flash and begins to lead you up the stairs.

His bruising grip yet cold hands provide a confusing contrast, a distinct reminder of the lack of humanity in these ants.

You stumble behind Pouf as the two of you ascend the stairs, his grip dragging you along. His gracefulness puts your jittery movements to shame, your intense anxiety filtering through a calm facade.

The journey felt excruciatingly long, yet in reality was likely only two or three minutes. As the seconds ticked by, the weight on your heart increased tenfold, the mere thought of being face to face with the king crushing your lungs and halting your breath. As if sensing your discomfort, Pouf sighed and hurried his pace, clearly eager to be rid of your troublesome presence.

After what felt like an eternity, your worst fears were finally realised. A swift knock on the double doors from Pouf snapped you out of your troubled stupor, further indicating your likely demise. A stern voice commanded “Enter.”, sealing your fate.

After what Pouf deemed to be an unacceptably long pause of hesitation, a slender hand reached over you to push open one of the doors, the other finding its way to the small of you back to deliver a firm shove, causing you to stumble in to the grand throne room. The slammed of the door seemed to trigger panic within you, your mind racing. Falling to your knees, you trembled.

‘Is this the power of the king? I haven’t even set eyes on him, and yet here I am, trembling like a child. Did Palm experience this? Was she just as afraid as I? Is she… dead? Will I be killed too?’ You shook your head, allowing the negative thoughts to dissolve into white noise, as you gathered the courage to raise your head. Eye contact may be too bold for the moment, but perhaps just capturing a glimpse of his figure may put your restless mind at ease.

it would be nice to know who was going to kill you, after all.

Heavy footsteps against the tile floor halted your plans for the moment. Continuing to gaze into the floor below you, your ragged breaths gave away your desperate fear as the creature stopped and crouched in front of you.

“Raise your head. I want to look at you.”

Startled by the command, you hesitated. Would it be wiser to comply? Will that give you a chance of survival? Or would he kill you, regardless?

Your internal debate was cut short, when a firm grip suddenly appeared on your jaw, squishing your cheeks together as the hand forced your gaze upwards. Tears began to fall from your eyes, suddenly oh-so aware of your own mortality, and the strength of the figure in front of you. And oh, how beautifully terrifying that creature was.

Regardless of your thoughts, the ant king began to mutter, posing rhetorical questions while tilting your face, seemingly inspecting your features.

“Tell me, little human. Are you with the other humans, attempting to foil my plans? No, unlikely, you clearly are not a Ben user, nor do you possess any impressive mental fortitude. A spy, perhaps? If so that just makes it all the more fun.”

The king’s vague wording instilled fear in you, as you inferred a future of torture if not capital punishment. Squirming in his grasp, you struggled for freedom, or at least some sense of control in this helpless situation.

“Futile indeed, little human.” Any and all escape attempts ceased at those words.

“My Royal Guard suggests I kill you. An act of mercy perhaps.” The ant king seemed amused at the suggestion. “But, that would be quite the waste, wouldn’t you agree? It’s not everyday such a pretty thing stumbles into my palace. Yes, I do believe we can find a much better use for you, little human.” Your stomach dropped as his smirk grew.

On the bright side, this does imply a chance of survival? However, it could arguably be a fate worse than death.

Grabbing you by your hair, the ant king stood up and dragged you to his throne, as you whined at the sharp tugs on your scalp. Seating himself, he pulled you into his lap, you back pressed tightly against his chiseled chest. A hand snaked around your waist, locking you in place, as his thick thighs pinned your legs in a spread position. Panic coursed through your veins at your sudden vulnerability, chest heaving, eyes welling up as his hand traveled further down, snaking under your slip, as his presses his face into the crook of your neck. The ant king inhales sharply at the scent, purring and nuzzling your neck in satisfaction as his sharp nails swiftly tear your panties.

Thick fingers swipe at your folds, rubbing tight circles against your clit at you unwillingly mewled in pleasure. Chuckling at your reaction, the ant flicks your clit a few more times, the pleasure distorting the pain as he plunges two thick fingers into your sopping walls.

“So wet already. Are you enjoying this, little human?” He murmurs into your ears, hit breath tickling your neck, sensations overwhelming you as his fingers curl deep inside you, massaging your gummy walls and curling around that spongy spot deep inside of you.

“s-sir..” unsure what to call the creature, you opt for an honorific, in an attempt to appease the king. A snort behind you reveals the foolishness of your attempt as he replies, “You are to address me as Meruem-sama.”

A soft cry escapes you as his fingers repeatedly curl against your spongy walls. “Y-yes, M-Meruem-sama..”

A smirk against your neck reveals his delight at your cooperation, as the king plants a series of soft kisses and bites along your neck, before choosing to suck harshly against your jaw. The stimulation and attention increased as he sped up his ministrations, a coil tightening in your stomach as you approached your high. Unsure of how to express such a thing, you simply cried, “c-cumming, Meruem-sama!” As your walls clenched down harshly around his fingers, gushing your slick all down his hand and wrist.

Meruem sighed against your neck, alarmingly pensive for a man an ant who had you cumming on his fingers seconds earlier.

“Yes, this is certainly much more suitable for you than death, wouldn’t you agree?”

A/N: it has been a very long time haha.

I found this in my drafts and it was too funny a concept to not share with world so enjoy. Maybe I’ll write a part two if anyone likes it

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stevebattle · 8 months ago

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Modulus Service & Security robot by Sirius, Italy (1984). Modulus is a Commodore 64 driven personal robot available in three separate versions, the base unit, the Service & Security robot, and the full 'Moddy'. "The Service & Security robot is obtained by fitting the Techno-Cake home-security and service unit onto the Base. The components allow the robot to signal the presence of smoke, gas, and intruders. Fitting the robot with a support attachment and plotter-device, the robot can utilize a humidity probe to detect water leaks. At the first sign of danger, it can inform a computer or trigger a built-in siren." The Techno-Cake can hold up to 8 interchangeable hardware and software slices, including an arm with ample freedom of movement and considerable gripping power.

#cybernetics #robot #Sirius #1984

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malewife-overlord · 4 months ago

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Six Cycles Later: Cybertron

Chapter 1: What It Means To Be Haunted

Chapter summary: she's alive, against all odds. But Puncture's situation is no better than it was on the Marshall Islands. The Autobots surely want something out of her.

Trigger warnings: death, gore, injury descriptions

You can find the start of Six Cycles Later here, as well as a description of what it is :] next chapter is here

Word count: 6382

chapter below cut!

Project MS: Log 1

WARNING

AUTOBOT INTRUDERS DETECTED

The data he’d been reading disappeared as the screen suddenly turned into a camera view of the invaders. They had just slipped past the initial defenses of Headquarters, the outer walls, by cutting a hole clean through them. Shockwave’s single optic dimmed slightly in his own form of narrowing it.

There were four of them. A large one, blue in paint. An orange one, about average height. A female Autobot, white with red. And their leader, another female, small and gray with black accents. Too many to be a few desperate rogues, too few to be a serious raid.

The Autobots were desperate for Energon, but not desperate enough to send a fully fledged party. Four was enough to deal with any initial guards, but not an entirely populated facility. Four was just enough to ensure that they could split up without detection, but not enough that their discovery would hurt the cause. Four was enough that losses wouldn’t be extreme, but still felt.

Four. This attack was planned, thought out, and executed with soldiers specific to the task. He tapped a few buttons on the keyboard, pulling up the controls for the base’s defenses.

As with any proper commanding officer of the Decepticon HQ on Cybertron, Shockwave was occupying the primary control room. It had a circular layout, with the main computers and their respective keyboards completely populating one side, an elevator in the middle, and two exits at the back, each leading deeper into the base. Sealed doors that each required codes stood opposite the elevator. On the ceiling, perfectly hidden panels concealed turrets.

He was perfectly safe in this room; even the back doors, which always remained open, could not be breached by intruders, unless they somehow dismantled the entire security system. The only access to said security system was locked behind a passcode that changed every single day and was stored on only three computers, one being the device he was currently accessing.

He was safe, but he could guess what the Autobots were after, and knew that if he did not act in some way, it would not be. After the majority of the Decepticon forces had left onboard the Nemesis, chasing the Autobot Ark, their numbers on Cybertron had dwindled. The result was that there were few beside himself to guard their main headquarters on Cybertron.

The built-in security system helped, of course, but the Autobots were learning to work their way around it. And this, before him, was their most recent attempt.

If each was handpicked to focus on infiltration, the base defenses would only be partially effective against them. Mostly the defenses consisted of turrets, moving walls, deadly lasers, and energon detectors that would sound alarms and release drones. Those who knew which signs to look for could evade them without much trouble; those who didn’t know what to look for had still proven to, on occasion, survive the traps laid before them.

Really, he needed to invest some of his time into improving the defenses beyond just the hologram technology. But judging by the appearances of the invaders, he concluded quickly that only one of the group could be specialized in evasion of security tech.

It was the black and gray one. She was comparatively tiny to the others, yet they still followed the orders she appeared to be giving. As he watched the camera feed, she clambered over one of the inner walls and felt along its length until she discovered its hidden panel. Then, she tapped her servos to it and began to hack it.

Interesting. He couldn’t say he’d seen an Autobot who looked like that and bore such an ability. Shockwave jotted it down for later, to ensure he remembered her face and frame. Then he pulled up the map of the outer base and began activation of the external holograms.

It was a kindness, a courtesy, really, that he wasn’t immediately summoning the turrets to shoot all of them dead. But the turrets consumed Energon, and Energon was not in good supply at the moment. The hoard he was protecting, hidden behind four locks and twice as many doors, was the primary source left for the Decepticons on Cybertron. They had no efficient method of producing more at the time, and he needed to make it last.

Who knew, exactly, when the Nemesis would return, after all?

The holograms which formed took the shape of Seekers. He’d programmed them as such: any ground-based Autobot knew to fear the sound of those jet engines. The holograms manifested in the air, as jets, and immediately shot towards the Autobots on the ground.

They were in the open, standing just before the second wall. At the roar of Seeker engines, the biggest one yelled and dropped, the orange and white raised their rifles, and the gray female darted for cover.

The Seeker holograms winged around them, discharging fake blasts, shooting just beside or above them to grant the illusion that they were barely missing. The three Autobots at the outer wall returned fire.

One hit, and the Seeker hologram fuzzed for a moment before regaining its stability. The Autobot who had struck it looked confused for a moment, then fired and hit it again.

The illusion was up. Shockwave frowned and turned it off. The Autobots quickly announced their discovery, and the female returned to her hacking. The panel sparked, then opened a door in the second wall. She waved her comrades through as they continued their invasion.

So be it. He had no desire for mercy, only energy conservation. But if the Seeker holograms could not perform their function, he supposed he could regain the power lost by harvesting the Energon of what was left of the invaders.

They headed for the front door of HQ, the small gray female immediately working to hack the touchpad. In the meantime, Shockwave pulled up the map for the front door, pausing for just a moment to determine which way he should kill them.

Turrets consumed Energon. Drones consumed Energon. Lasers consumed Energon. What was the most effective way to instantly neutralize them while consuming the least amount of Energon?

Ah, that way. Of course. One of his favorites, as well. There was something so satisfying about it all.

Opening the controls for the walls and ceiling, he connected his servos to the keyboard, which pulled him slightly into itself. For just a moment, he became the very walls of the HQ, the very motherboard of the main computer.

Then he was back in his body, watching the single eye of the front camera as he waited.

The front hall was empty. It was just that, a front hall–nondescript, save for the keypad next to it and the large, open space that branched into four different paths. The camera he watched hung directly from the ceiling in the middle of all four.

The double doors to the HQ suddenly slid open, revealing the four Autobot invaders. The gray female at the front still had her servos attached to the external keypad. Her dermas moved as she spoke to the other Autobots.

“Each a’ ya take a separate hall. Remember we’re dark in there. No words, no EM fields, nothin’, or he hears us. If you find it, one ping on my personal channel, and I’ll send it to everyone else. Move out.”

They all nodded, and one by one, quickly filed in. The female herself did not. She stayed just at the entrance, holding it open. It was as if she suspected something was about to go wrong.

Clever bot. Or perhaps just full of self-preservation. He would give her the single reward of letting her watch.

For no sooner had her comrades entered their hallways than did walls suddenly slam down from the ceiling, blocking each. They all backed away, raising their rifles, looking for the cause.

“Back up!” The female yelled. “Retreat! He knows–”

He ordered the ceiling to descend, and it did. The largest Autobot barely had time to turn before it smacked into his helm. He hit the ground as his two comrades immediately raised their arms to catch it, straining against the metal as it pressed harder with each second.

“RETREAT!” The gray female yelled again, looking on helplessly. The largest Autobot, energon leaking from the side of his helm, seemed dazed, stuck trying to decide if he should flee or help.

They would get no such thing. Shockwave pressed harder, ordering the ceiling to descend faster. It obeyed, lowering itself with enough force to snap the white Autobot’s leg. She cried out, but dropped to her knees, still resisting, still holding on.

“Go!” She screamed. Her comrade, the orange colored construction vehicle, wheezed as the descending ceiling broke off a piece of his back. “HURRY!”

The largest Autobot quickly began to scrape himself along the floor, heading for the open door. As he did so the creaking and snapping of metal grew louder. The white Autobot’s knees had given out. She hit the floor and desperately grabbed at it, trying to slug herself along to the entrance.

“Please, no, I don’t want to die,” the orange one whispered, his legs rattling like thunder. “Please, no, I don’t want to die. Please, no. Please–”

He went on and on as the pressure broke his leg, then snapped his knees, then knocked him to the floor. The gray female looked desperately at the control pad she was still connected to, then to her comrades. She extended one arm. The largest had just made it, grabbing onto her servos as the top of the ceiling pressed against his back.

Shockwave reared back ever so slightly and then slammed down. The camera recorded three collective crunches and went black.

And then it was silent.

He only pulled back when he heard the distant scraping of pedes on metal, quickly returning to silence. Separated from the main computer, his orders were retracted, and the security system reset itself.

The camera he’d been watching through had retreated into its panelling for safety once the ceiling had slammed down. As it lifted, the device was able to exit its safe haven. Still, the lens was completely covered in bright pink. He couldn’t hope to make anything out from it.

Tedious. He swapped to the outside cameras and just barely caught a flash of the gray female Autobot retreating through the very door she’d opened.

A survivor was good. It meant that she would return with news of horrors, and her superiors would likely decide against sending another infiltration team. Autobots were soft–they valued life more than they did progress. It held them back.

Only once confirming the female Autobot’s complete retreat did he then pull up his contacts.

The information of every Decepticon in the universe displayed before him in seconds on the main computer. He narrowed it from billions to millions, then thousands, then hundreds, then just three. The names of the Seekers he was searching for displayed: Acid Storm, Nova Storm, and Ion Storm. The Rainmakers.

He pressed the button to call them. It took them a moment to answer, as it always did–Seekers were quite lazy when unsupervised. Megatron’s absence was being felt more every day.

“Yes, Shockwave?” All three spoke at once, with the unity befitting a proper trine. They were nothing like the cacophonous Elite Trine, which prided themselves on their unique powers while neglecting to mention their horrendous teamwork. Why Megatron even bothered with such failure Seekers, Shockwave would never know.

“There’s been a breach at headquarters,” he announced. “I have taken care of it. You are to return to clean up the bodies.”

“Understood, Shockwave,” they all said.

“Throw the remains into the P1U70 lab compactor,” he ordered. “Under no circumstances are you to enter the rest of the lab.”

“Yes, Shockwave.”

“After you finish with those, you are to patrol the base until repairs complete. If you find any other invaders, eliminate them.”

“As you say, Shockwave.”

With that he hung up.

Present Day

Wake up, Breaker.

Come on, you have to wake up.

If you don’t wake up, he’ll get you.

You know how he feels about laziness.

You know what he’ll do to you if he finds you like this.

You know you won’t survive this time, with no one to take the fall for you.

You have to wake up, Breaker.

You have to wake up.

There’s someone else with her. Two of them. From her supine position on the floor they loom over her, even if one had only ever come up to her hip. One had a blast clean through his helm, red optic spitting out light into nothing. One had nothing where his optics should be, his own life cord wrapped around his neck, still connected to the broken, crunched brain in his mouth.

Wake up, Puncture.

Her optics online and the first sensation to greet her is pain. Puncture hissed instinctively at the pounding in her helm, unwilling to groan, for groaning would signal the pain had enough strength to weaken her, not inconvenience her. The moments when she felt weakest were the most crucial–if she could not power through them, could not prove that she was strong enough to overcome them, she would die.

And that begged an important question: why wasn’t she dead? In fact, where was she?

Just like in her dream, she was lying supine on something hard. When she attempted to raise her arm, she found it bound to the object she was laying upon. The same was true for her legs, though at least she still had both of those. Her neck was equally tied down, and a thick band was clasped around her waist.

Wherever she was, they didn’t want her escaping. It hurt her to turn her head, but she did, slowly taking in her surroundings.

The first thing apparent was that she was not where she had passed out. The last thing she remembered was bitterness, bitterness that Invert had gotten away with hurting her, siphoning her Energon, and abandoning her. She also remembered a roaring headache, brought on by the Autobot Channel, and that something skeletal and silver had fled the beach alongside Invert.

Beyond that, she recalled nothing else. She’d clearly passed out and since been moved. But by who?

Judging by the orange-yellow walls surrounding her, the gurney she was currently strapped down on, and the blue computer on the wall playing gentle scenes of scenery on Earth, she could take a guess.

“Oh! You’re awake!”

It was a masculine voice, though one she felt belonged to someone who had never thrown a punch in his life. She tilted her head in the direction of it and made out a red and white Autobot approaching her. He had a large blue visor and a squarish helm, and wore his Autobot insignia on his leg.

“I’m probably one of the only ‘bots who will say this, but what a relief!” He spoke through a white mask. “For a moment we were concerned you wouldn’t make it.”

“Who the frag are you?” She growled. “Where have you taken me?”

Despite the mask covering his face, she could make out how he frowned at her comment. “Language,” he chided. “I’m First Aid. You’re in the Ark after we found you on the brink of death at the Marshall Islands.”

She threw her head back and let out an exasperated groan. The Ark?! They’d taken her to the fragging Ark!? How was she supposed to escape the Ark!? Her comrades certainly wouldn’t launch a full scale invasion of this place to get her out. How typical of the Autobots, to take her somewhere to “save” her life, only to then imprison her forever.

“...so you aren’t going to tell me your name?” First Aid asked, arching an optical ridge. It was hard to do so with his visor covering his face, but he pulled it off, somehow.

“What, you haven’t pulled it from my memory files already?” She huffed.

“Of course not. That’s an incredible breach of your privacy–”

“You really carried me all the way here, repaired me, and didn’t even bother to review my memory files to learn about me first!?”

“Of course not,” First Aid repeated, his frown deepening. “As I said, that’s an incredible breach of your privacy. Plus, your brain was in such a damaged state, it would have likely killed you if we had.”

“Damaged?” Of course it was damaged, Channel had clearly fragged her up. But killed her? “Just how damaged?”

First Aid in-vented and retrieved a datapad from the nearby computer. “Well, I’ve seen worse, but the ones I’ve seen worse in didn’t survive their experience. For starters, there were five holes burned into your brain, and your circuits were partially melted.” He tapped on the datapad, pulled up the report, and read it off. “‘Patient exhibits severe burn trauma directly to the brain. Wiring of patient’s helm is shot. Only essential wiring connecting to the life chord remains intact.’ And that, of course, doesn’t account for your facial trauma.”

Facial trauma? Oh right. She’d forgotten about that.

“Speaking of, how is your new optic?” He asked, then produced his pen, moving it slowly across her vision. “Can you follow this pen?”

“Frag off,” she snarled.

“Alright, I see you’re in a bad mood.” He lowered the pen and turned away from her. “Fine, you don’t have to be cooperative.” Moving to the computer, he began to type into it. “But just so you know, we did save your life, despite the fact that you’re a Decepticon. Regardless of your allegiance, I, and the other medics here, have a duty and obligation to try and help you. We aren’t doing this because we’re Autobots, we do it in spite of it.” He cast her a side look. “So think of that when Hoist comes to perform your physical, alright?”

She narrowed her optics at him and said nothing. It was true, probably; medic bots were among the most prized on each side. Even warriors like herself knew that medics were to be left alone and respected.

Still. Didn’t mean she had to be nice to him. She didn’t ask to be plucked off that island and brought into the heart of an enemy base. In fact, it likely would have been better if she’d died out there. She’d still be free, if so.

“Hoist will be in in just a moment,” First Aid told her as he crossed the medical bay, tapping on his datapad. “You have the right to request a full copy of your medical information, as well as to deny medical care, even the life-saving stuff. Some Autobots might prefer that you do just that.”

“So you do have some bite,” she sneered.

“I’m just returning the favor. Anyways, if you need immediate medical assistance, there’s a controller by your remaining servos. Press the red button on it, and I’ll come running.”

And with those final words, he left the medical bay.

She laid alone on the gurney for only a moment before checking around for cameras. There were three, all hanging from the ceiling. Two were trained on her, with the third having a wide focus on the entire medical bay.

So they hadn’t assigned a guard, but they were watching her. She tested the bindings keeping her tied to the gurney and found that they held. She felt for her claws, trying to transform her arm enough to flip her large sickles out. Though her T-cog spun, the bindings restricted her movement too much, and her arm locked up momentarily before quitting and reverting.

Frag. They had her tied up properly. She felt along the inside of her masked maw, trying to stimulate her venom glands.

They’d been drained. Her intake was drier than the Wastes. She cursed internally and ran over her options.

In a few moments an Autobot doctor (Hoist?) would see her, check her over, and do whatever to her. After he was gone, if he provided her a clean bill of health, she would likely be thrown in a cell. Once in a cell, she would probably be interrogated and her brain picked clean.

So her future was looking like being locked in a cell for the rest of her life, or, if she was lucky, locked up, taken to trial, and executed.

Technically it was a better fate than anything her brethren would do. Pit knows what happened to those bots sent to Shockwave’s labs, though she could take a guess. But it was still a horrible fate for her–warriors were meant to die on the battlefield, not in an executioners chamber.

She had to get out of here. She’d much sooner offline by her own claw than serve as an example of ‘Autobot justice’.

Heavy pedesteps alerted her to the arrival of another Autobot, this one green. He also wore a visor as well, and when he spoke, his voice gave her the impression of a foreigner. She assumed he was “Hoist”.

“Ah, there you are, Miss Decepticon! I had heard you survived your wounds.”

She gave him an irritated look. There was no time for pleasantries, not in her mind.

“What are you going to do with me,” she asked flatly. “Tell me. And how long has it been since I was knocked out?”

“Ah, miss, well…” He paused, flubbed on his script a little. “It’s been approximately seven earth days since we found you. I assure you, we’ve treated you well in that time. Your memories have not been–”

“The nurse told me. You repaired me, but only partially. Why’s my arm still missing?”

“Well, we–”

“How’d you drain my venom glands?”

“I–”

“What are you going to do to me after this?”

“Miss, if you please! I’m just here to give you a check-up and ensure everything is functioning. Frankly, I have no idea what it is that will be done with you. As for your other questions, well, the obvious, of course! We drained your venom because it is dangerous, and we did not repair your arm for the same reason. Now, Miss Decepticon. Will you please consent to a full-body scan?”

She rolled her optics. Why give her those back, but not her arm? Primus, she must look awful right now. “Tell me, exactly, how I can say no in my present condition.”

Hoist shrugged. “I suppose you cannot. Alright, please hold still…”

—

Hoist released her with a clean bill of health. Despite her prior condition of almost having her brain melted and losing over 50% of the Energon in her frame, she’d made a full recovery, and would be in fighting form upon discharge.

Once he’d declared her healthy enough to be removed from the medical bay, First Aid had arrived to do just that, carting her bound form to the Ark’s brig. She was wheeled down a hall, passing a few Autobots she didn’t recognize on the way. They cast her looks of disdain, which she returned.

They paused before a cell. There was already an enforcer waiting at it, who placed stasis cuffs on her single good arm before First Aid had even begun to undo her bindings. From one slab to the next, Puncture was pulled off the gurney and dumped into an empty cell. Behind her, a wall of lasers formed the jail bars, threatening to electrocute her if she even brushed against them.

The enforcer who’d thrown her into the cell gave her a contemptuous look and huffed, then turned away, standing at his post like the dutiful little soldier he was. She glared at him, picking herself off the ground with only a bit of struggle.

“Hey,” she said, “what are you planning? You and all your buddies. You’re keeping me alive for a reason, aren’t you? You want me for something.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” he answered, not even looking back at her. “My job is to make sure you don’t escape, and telling you our plans isn’t a part of that.”

“So you are keeping me alive for something. Alright.” She grinned slyly. “You do know who I am though, don’t you?”

Silence.

“My comrades will gladly raid this place for me, you know. I’m not just some useless foot soldier you scraped off the ground. If they realize I’m here–”

“You lost the war,” he said, hard. “And your comrades are dead. You, Decepticon, are the last of your kind on this planet.” She could just barely make out his optic as he cast her a side glare. “No one is coming for you, no matter who you think you are.”

“Liar.” She hissed the word, but already, Invert’s words were catching up with her: they’re all dead.

“Argue all you want, you can’t deny facts.” And with that he stopped talking to her.

Her grin faded, and instead she focused on trying to access her comms. They were open, but a signal was jamming them–of course the Ark would have a signal jammer. Perhaps Soundwave or his cassettes could get around it, but the average bot would easily be deafened.

She still tried, anyways, casting out a line into the dark, emitting a few beeps, hoping anyone would answer. All that she was met with was silence.

They’re all dead.

That couldn’t be. The Decepticons were too strong, there was no way they’d lose. She’d arrived late, but not late enough that the war was over. That wasn’t possible. For over four million years it had been going, with no end in sight. It couldn’t be over now.

And yet all that spoke to her was silence. Grumbling, Puncture turned and lowered herself to the ground, taking in the empty box that was her cell.

There was a single bench and a recharge slab. That was all. Already, there was someone curled up on the slab, looking over at her. Part of his head was missing, courtesy of Megatron’s fusion cannon, though his destroyed optic somehow still stared out at her.

She tried not to focus on him. Sparkripper and Strutsnapper had haunted her for years before this all, but they were never so brazen. It had to be her brain nearly melting–the two of them were more active than ever now that her defenses had been damaged. Once her mind was properly, fully restored, they’d both vanish again.

‘Clean bill of health my aft…’ she thought to herself.

Something brushed up against her EM field. She jolted at the sudden sensation–no one dared mess with her field, be they Decepticon or Autobot. She kept hers held close, almost entirely cut off from everyone else. To access it would require another to be practically on top of her.

Yet as she checked around, she saw no one close enough for it. The enforcer was her most likely suspect, but the strange force dancing at the edge of her field didn’t feel nearly as big as him.

‘Who’s there?’ she demanded, trying to reach through her field to feel back against whoever was bothering her. At first, nothing.

Then…

‘You’re alive.’

It was a familiar hatred, and she felt her dermas stretching into a grin at the antagonization. The EM field, however, remained foreign.

‘Yeah, I am. Wanna try to change that?’ She challenged, and was met with an immediate flare.

‘Twelve mega-cycles. Twelve mega-cycles, and you’re–’ The other field suddenly pulled away.

She waited for it to return, but it didn’t. Puncture huffed and rolled her optics. It was some Autobot hotshot thinking they were enough to take her down, probably. She’d give them the fight they wanted in time, but first…

First, she had to figure out how to get out of this damned cell. No venom, no claws, one arm, and stasis cuffs weighing her down. Her situation wasn’t looking the best, but she still had one trick she could utilize: her camouflage. It didn’t seem they’d disabled that. All she had to do was wait for a changing of the guard and use it. Then she could take her alt mode and wait for them to open the bars. Once those were gone, she’d creep out.

It was a bare bones plan, but it was better than compliance. She focused her gaze on the guard and away from Sparkripper, who had cocked his draconian head and let his broken jaw hang open.

A new figure appeared from the other side of the cells, approaching the guard. He was white, with a vehicle alt mode and a red crest. She recognized the style immediately: a Prowl. Another one.

She’d seen a few in her time. Prowls were strategists and enforcers, and like how the Decepticons made Seekers by the hundreds, she assumed the Autobots made Prow’s by the hundreds as well.

Or maybe a dozen bots had just decided collectively to adopt the same stupid alt mode and share the same name. Who was she to assume?

Whatever the case, the Prowl at her cell bars wasn’t one she recognized. The differences were minor between this one and the two or three she’d seen in battle, but his star was in a different spot, the horns of his crest were a bit smaller, and his headlights had the wrong shape.

No matter the differences, though, she could guess why he was here.

Her guess was proven when, only moments later, the enforcer turned and deactivated the bars of her cage, turning and pointing his rifle at her.

“Move, Decepticon. You’re wanted in the interrogation room.”

Prowl gave her a look of contempt as she flicked her antenna.

“Color me surprised,” she grumbled.

—-

The interrogation room was a single empty chamber with a table in the middle of it. A screen was on one wall with a window opposite it. A camera hung in one of the corners, trained on the middle of the room.

She was ‘gently persuaded’ into the room, and her single cuff was attached to the table. The Prowl sat opposite of her, retrieving a data pad from his chassis. The enforcer took his position in the corner, rifle at the ready.

“Decepticon,” the Prowl began, tapping on his datapad, “it’s good to see that you’ve made a full recovery. I imagine you know why you’re here.”

She flicked her antenna.

“...As I’m sure you’ve been made aware, your memory was not examined upon your admission to our care. Such would be considered a violation of your rights as a mech. However, I would like to make you aware that we can skip this entire process if you would consent to a mnemosurgery exam. We only want a few things from you. This doesn’t have to take all day.”

“You’re not sticking any needles in my brain, pigatron.”

His doorwing twitched. “So be it. With that said, there are a few things I’d like to ask you about. First things first: why are you here on Earth? This planet is entirely under Autobot control. Your final retreat was ordered six months ago. We gave you time to collect your dead. Why are you here now?”

“Why? Because this planet isn’t yours, Autobot, and you’re a fool to think we’ve lost it.”

“Hm. You’re not in any of our databases. Your preliminary scans revealed that you are an Insecticon. Are you a clone?”

“No. And don’t lump me in with those traitors.”

He raised an optical ridge. “Traitors?”

“Yeah, traitors.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“No.”

“Hm.” He narrowed his optics slightly. “Alright. How did you hide for so long? We scanned the entire planet and picked up no Decepticon life signals.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, little Autobot?”

“...are there more like you, hiding beneath the Earth? We found your base, the Nemesis. We can use its tracking abilities to locate any others you have remaining on this planet. If you surrender the location of them, we can offer preliminary communication to avoid further conflict. For the safety of your fellow Decepticons–”

“I don’t care about my fellow Decepticons,” she challenged. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you anything.”

The Prowl tapped something down on his datapad. The enforcer in the corner gripped his rifle all the tighter.

“Good to know then, Puncture,” the Prowl said. “If you’re really so keen on resistance, perhaps I can offer you some information that might change your mind.”

Her optics narrowed slightly, antenna pricking at the same time. This whole time, he’d known her name? No, of course he did, he was a Prowl. Prowl’s were strategists, they offered and withheld information as part of their wars.

“I take it from the sudden increase in your spark spinning as well as the flick of your antennae that my offer is of interest to you. Good.” The Prowl crossed his legs. “First and foremost, seeing as you are in no Autobot database, I take it you aren’t nearly up to date with what’s occurred on Earth or Cybertron in the past four million years. You’re in the complete dark, and you’re all alone out here. There is no one coming to save you. Now that you’re in Autobot custody, you’ve lost any and all freedom you could have hoped to have on this planet. You will spend the rest of your days in a cell in a foreign prison until you eventually stand trial for your crimes, after which you will be executed.” He looked up from his datapad with sly eyes. “Just one Autobot fatality carries the death penalty, you know.”

She snarled behind her mask. “So I’ve heard.”

“But I can help alleviate that sentence, if you cooperate with me.” He returned his gaze to the datapad, scrolling through it casually. “Instead of an eternity in a jail cell, waiting for execution, you could become a public servant. Or maybe a prisoner working in the mines, extracting resources. It’s still slag, but better than waiting to die, no?”

She bristled.

“So you have a choice, Puncture. You can resist, rot, and die alone, far from your comrades, your home, and whatever perceived notion of honor you have clouding that half melted helm of yours. Or you can give me a few small answers, and I can see to it that you at least spend the rest of your miserable existence in a yard that lets you see the sun.” He leaned forward. “Your choice.”

Die horribly, or live horribly. There was a bot with his brain in his mouth, staring at her from the corner. Solvent was streaking down his faceplate even as he made no sound.

What a waste, he had been.

“Frag you,” she spat. The honor she had fought so immensely for would not be squandered slaving under the eye of an Autobot. She would rather die.

The Prowl’s optics flickered slightly as he sat back. “Alright then. Don’t cooperate. But that won’t get you out of that chair. Now tell me, Decepticon, what do you know about Sparkeaters?”

She blinked, surprised by the sudden topic change.

“They don’t exist,” she answered. “Are you Autobots deluding yourselves with sparkling tales now?”

“Hm. What of Project Spark Storm do you know, then?”

“What.” Her confusion was genuine.

He sighed and lowered his datapad. “Alright, that’s enough. Take her back to her cell. I’ll see to that mnemosurgery appeal.”

With that he stood and headed for the door. The enforcer moved towards her, rifle trained on her helm. She bristled at him, trying to build up some venom in her dry glands. They ached and clenched, producing nothing.

The door suddenly opened. The Prowl froze, servos still reaching for its touchpad. A blue, red, and white bot was in the doorway–and he was massive. She recognized his double pronged helmet, large blue optics, and blocky shoulders. How couldn’t she? Every Decepticon who had ever lived through sudden Autobot reinforcements would.

“Ultra Magnus!” The Prowl said, surprised. “I wasn’t aware you were on Earth, sir! What are you doing here?”

“Interrogations,” he answered, peering in at Puncture. “Is that the Decepticon you captured?”

“Yes, Puncture the Insecticon. If you’re looking for information, she isn’t particularly cooperative, sir. I would recommend a mnemosurgeon examine her memories.”

“Hm. Maybe. Bring her to the space bridge.”

Prowl’s door wings practically shot up. “What?! But she’s–”

“She’s needed on Cybertron. I’ll take over her interrogations from here. I expect to see you both at the space bridge in twenty kliks.”

And with that he walked away. Another bot passed behind him, also in stasis cuffs. She recognized a familiar gray and black head, awkwardly clashing with the cheerful white, green, and blue palette of its body.

It turned and their optics met. The sensation from before of another brushing against her EM field arose once more, vanishing as the Autobot passed, moved along by another enforcer.

So that was who it was. She rose from her seat without issue and almost took a step forward, but the enforcer stopped her, training his rifle on her helm. She gave him a look, then returned her gaze back to the doorframe where the Prowl stood, still in shock.

Ultra Magnus was here on Earth? He was far too valuable to be reduced to such a base place, let alone be interrogating prisoners. Something didn’t feel right about the entire situation.

And Channel was alive. She was, somehow, riding on the bot Puncture had killed—Uptick, was his name? Perhaps he’d survived too then?

Her dermas curled down. She didn’t like this. The prospect of a rematch was always exciting, but its context was leaving her wary.

They said she was needed on Cybertron. Cybertron was under Decepticon control, it had been for millions of years. When had the Autobots formed a base on it? Invert’s words echoed in her mind again.

They’re all dead.

You lost the war.

No one is coming for you.

Strutsnapper lingered in the corner, the solvent running down his faceplate growing in volume.

#six cycles later #six cycles later: cybertron #my ocs #my writing #tf ocs #transformers oc #AND THUS WE BEGIN

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dracocheesecake · 8 months ago

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Dorcean Anatomy: Speculative Headcanons Based Upon What I Gleaned From The Text (And/Or Made Up Myself)

They have violet blood (possibly their hemogoblin contains a percentage of some sort of alloy like hepatizon, a mix of gold and copper? Since our blood is red because of iron and that alloy can produce a purplish color?) [Book 3 pg.394: "Violet blood ran from his nostrils and the corner of his {Redimus'} jagged mouth."']

Have three hearts (my headcanon, Redimus only said to Eva Nine "I can feel your single heart race" [Book 3 pg.305 ] so that implies they have more than one- would make sense, considering their size and number of limbs (possibly the size of their brains as well- as intelligent as they are, their brains would need a lot of blood flowing to those tissues).

Have pit organs disseminated throughout the surface area of their chins. They hunt mainly by heat detection, as stated by Rovender Kitt [Book 1 pg.128: "He {Besteel} can sense heat..." and pg.200: "Besteel hunts by heat detection."]

They can also detect electrical currents (also stated by Rovender Kitt [Book 1 pg.234: "But Besteel may be able to sense the electrical charge that your device emits."]) Suggests they have some sort of electroreceptors- possibly located in mucous glands located in their nostrils (aided by the bristles around their beaks, that could pick up on vibrations).

Apparently also have a good sense of smell. (Just judging by the size of their nostrils, and also suggested by this snippet, wherein it seems Besteel sniffed out Eva [Book 1 pg.50: "It {Besteel} lifted its large head and snorted loudly, then abruptly stopped. Turning, the intruder raised a long rodlike apparatus right in Eva's direction." ]

Potentially excellent eye sight and night vision, just going off of the appearance of their eyes:

Reminiscent of owls or other birds of prey- very large, and perhaps also having the uniquely shaped foveae that magnifies their vision, allowing them to see from great distances; perhaps even owning rod cells to help them see in poor light.

They could also be some sort of "alien monotreme"- beaked mammals, like platypuses or echidna (though they don't lay eggs)- or at the very least, bear some resemblance to the family. Otherwise, they may have some sort of evolutionary avian origin?

If this is so, perhaps the "coarse hairs" [Book 1 pg.81: "The huntsman's {Besteel's} wide, hulking shape was covered in bristly, coarse hairs patterned in varying shades of gray- almost as if dappled light from the treetops were shadowing him." and Book 3 pgs. 306-307: "He {Redimus} was grooming his hairy hide..."] they appear to be covered in could in fact actually be feathers that evolved to suit a grounded, flightless lifestyle; the gray mottled patterns obviously evolved as a means of camouflage; and if they are indeed distant relations of flightless birds, that would put them in a category closer to that of the kiwi: ratites. Perhaps their multiple arms were once wings? (More than likely not plausible, but an interesting thought!).

They have crops [Book 3 pg. 326: "We {Redimus and Besteel} ate and drank until our stomachs and crops were full." ] which may be used as an aid to digestion (perhaps a start to the process) or to store food during times when prey is scarce or even as a means of feeding young.

The arms on their necks are perhaps used primarily for grooming their faces/teeth: these "preening claws" seem not to have much musculature, and have very closely-knit, almost comb-like claws that would be ideal for cleaning fur or picking out debris from between their teeth:

Ears are also owl like: each covered by a flap of skin and fur, located just behind the head.

#wondla #dorceans #headcanons #I know nothing about biology or anatomy #might add more later #didn't mean to post now tumblr is just stupid and thinks save draft means post now apparently

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sekhisadventures · 3 months ago

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Shaken Faith

A Ruined Titan Facility Deep Under Dornogal

Dagran Thaurissan looked over the notes he and his new research friend had copied down the night before, puzzling over the pictograms on the titan device before them. No living dwarf was totally fluent in them, though the earthen above might be… but he also had a feeling they might not be happy he was there.

Nearby stood his uncle Brann Bronzebeard, his rifle at the ready. He wanted to take a look himself, but this was Dagran’s find, not his. Let his nephew enjoy the thrill of discovery, he’d keep watch for anything dangerous. He grinned as he saw the white-haired young dwarf, his finger feeling over the markings on the device as his lips moved, the prince working out their meanings. The sight brought back happy memories of the early days of the Explorer’s League.

“Any luck yet Dagran?” came a high-pitched voice as a figure padded closer, a young vulpera girl with glasses perched on her muzzle and a backpack full of scrolls, maps, and other useful things. She had traded her looser more casual clothes for harder wearing gear that was favored by the members of the Explorer’s League herself… but, well, she was also their newest member.

“Not yet Leza. This one is tricky… this symbol ‘ere can mean a lot o’ things, context matters. It could say ‘security system,’ or ‘guardian,’ or ‘armory,’ or a few other things…” he replied, feeling over it again, “But as long as we’re careful we should… should…” his face suddenly screwed up as his nose twitched, and then his body lurched forward sharply as a sneeze echoed around the ancient chamber!

Leza winced as Brann laughed, “Hah! Gotta watch th’ dust here nephew.” grinned the older dwarf, “Ruins are always full o’ th’ shite. Ye’ll sneeze yerself half ta death if yer… uh…” he paused, looking back as he became aware of sounds in the hallway.

Dagran pulled his hand back and grimaced. “Oh bugger…” he whispered. He’d been touching the symbol when he sneezed, and the force of it had caused his hand to slam into what turned out to be a button on the ancient device!

Behind them, several large titan constructs slowly stood up, their eyes igniting with the light of Order Magic as they turned to face the trio.

“Intruders Detected. You Are Not Authorized To Enter This Facility. Surrender At Once.” spoke the nearest one as they began to lurch forward, the ground shaking under their footsteps.

Leza yipped and drew her wand as her hummingbird familiar appeared in a spark of flame, fluttering around her head as Brann took aim, Dagran standing back as he fumbled in his pouch for some of the alchemical bombs he’d picked up in Dornogal.

“Right! Time fer th’ excitin’ bit o’ explorin’ kids!” called out Brann as he pulled the trigger, and with a bang and a flash of gunpowder a bullet flew from the barrel into the lead construct’s face, shattering its eye!

The construct stumbled, then straightened up as its remaining eye changed from a bright yellow glow to a deep crimson. “Damage Sustained. Threat Level Reassessed. Lethal Force Authorized. Purge The Intruders.” said the construct in the emotionless monotone of a machine as all four raised their arms.

Leza gritted her teeth, but after the naga and the quillboar she was getting more used to this sort of thing, she waved her wand in a circle and called out in Thalassian, “Anar'alah belore!” and a gout of flames shot down from the air above them, one of the ancient machines suddenly sparking as the dust inside it’s joints ignited, cooking the wiring inside!

“Nicely done lass! Now th’ other three!” nodded Brann as he finished reloading and took aim again as Dagran lobbed a glass sphere filled with chemicals that, when shaken hard, tended to react with quite a bit of violence.

Seconds later a loud BOOM echoed through the ruin as a construct flew backwards, landing in five separate places as Brann’s rifle cracked off again and there was another woosh of arcane fire.

Leza grinned as she channeled another spell, if only Nelen could see her now! Next time they were all home in Orgrimmar it wouldn’t just be Sekhi with stories of adventures! Her tail swished excitedly at that thought as she shouted out another phrase in Thalassian and a fireball burst from the tip of her wand, flying towards the constructs!

Hours later the trio would emerge battered, exhausted, but with several titan artifacts secured in their packs. Another adventure accomplished by the Explorer’s League.

Stonelight Rest, the Inn at Dornogal

Yvain walked into the inn, looking around curiously. Dareley had contacted Xinyi earlier in the day asking her to let Yvain know he’d like to meet her in Dornogal that evening at the inn and his daughter from another timeline saw no reason to object.

“Oi, ‘scuse me.” she asked the innkeeper, a copper haired earthen named Ronesh, “I’m lookin’ fer an earthen man named Dareley. Black hair ‘n beard, used ta be a dwarf.”

The earthen man looked up from his mug as he sat at the table, “Oh yes, the new one. Yvain are you? He asked for a private room for the two of you and his other guest. Down the stairs, back of the inn.” he replied, pointing to the stairs further inwards.

Yvain nodded, the woman walking deeper into the inn as the firelight reflected off her armor. She had been working with the Stormwind City Guard in lieu of anything better to do, but really outside of a few doomsayers screaming about how the end was near and some other troublemakers there hadn’t been much to do in the city. Most of the local gangs were laying low, the Radiant Song having made things too tense to really ‘conduct business.’

She took the stairs down, then heard voices down one of the halls. One of them she recognized as her father’s voice, but slightly off due to this version of him becoming an earthen.

She entered a room at the end of the hall to find Dareley kneeling before a tall, cloaked figure, a cowl hiding his face. The cloaked man was making a gesture over Dareley and murmuring under his breath as the earthen man bowed his head reverently, then he blinked as he heard the door open and grinned.

“Ah Yvain, there ye are.” he smiled, standing up and nodding to the cloaked figure who nodded back and took a seat at a large table in the room with two extra chairs set up. “So lass, Johnathan was tellin’ me ye’ve been questionin’ a lot o’ th’ recent doctrine, statin’ ye dunnae think that it’d sit well with th’ founders o’ th’ Silver Hand, aye?” he asked.

Yvain nodded, closing the door behind them. “Aye, sorry if I’m stirrin’ up trouble, but it just really bothers me ta see things get so… liberal. Th’ Light is th’ Light. Necromancy ‘n th’ Fel are evil ‘n wicked. Even with yer friends Ed ‘n Mola, I cannae just accept that they can be used fer good.” she frowned. “I mean… what would Archbishop Faol say ta that?!” she asked, throwing up her arms in frustration.

“Well…” chuckled the cloaked figure, reaching up and taking his hood, then pulling it back as Yvain’s eyes went huge, the woman taking a step back.

Seated there was a Forsaken man, with pale white skin and glowing yellow eyes. He had long pale hair… but his face. She’d seen his face. She saw it on statues in the training hall where she and the other squires had learned how to wield their weapons, how to commune with the Light in the heat of combat.

He was one of the first leaders of the Church of the Holy Light. He had been a founding member of the Knights of the Silver Hand. He had served the light faithfully throughout his life until, finally, old age took him and he was succeeded by a man named Benedictus.

At least… that’s where it had ended in Yvain’s timeline.

“… if you would like to know, you can simply ask me.” chuckled Alonsus Faol, his dead lips smiling at her.

“W-what th’ fel…” whispered Yvain, reaching for her hammer almost on instinct. “What…” she groped at it, and yet his face and expression stayed her hand. He was undead, he was an abomination in the light… yet… he was Archbishop Alonsus Faol! He was one of the most important figures to her faith!

She turned to her father, “WHAT!?” she demanded, gesturing to him as she goggled at the earthen.

Dareley shrugged apologetically at the forsaken priest, who smiled and waved it away. “Its alright, this is far from the first time I’ve gotten this reaction when someone has met me, but…” he held out his hand and focused, and a golden shining star of light appeared over it, a warm glow filling the room as he focused.

Yvain slowly relaxed, seeing this. It was the Light, she could no more mistake that feeling than she could her own hands… but… a forsaken, one of the undead, was manifesting it’s blessed power?!

“… how…” she whispered, walking slowly forward as she lowered her arms.

“It is a long story, lady knight… but if you would like to take a seat, I can tell you all about it.” nodded the undead man.

Slowly, hesitantly, Yvain sat at the table as Dareley took the third chair, and Alonsus began to explain.

When the Third War began, the Scourge swept across the northern human kingdoms and Quel’thalas, and as they did they would pillage any graveyards, tombs, or other resting places for the dead they came across for new soldiers. One of those had been none other than his own grave, the Archbishop raised into undeath to serve the Lich King.

“… those were dark times. I thank the Light that the memory of what I did under Arthas’ control is lost to me, but I cannot deny that I was forced to commit horrible acts in his name. When Sylvannas first rebelled and those of us who could awoke to ourselves once more, I went with the Forsaken for a time… but even as one of the undead the Light did not burn me as it did others.” he nodded.

He went on to explain that for many undead the Light would harm them as much as heal them, regardless of the intent of the prayers used to invoke its holy power. He, and more recently Calia Menethil, were two of the only exceptions he had ever found.

“As for why, I cannot say. The Light still shines through me, and Calia’s own nature is likely due to her being raised by one of the Naaru, a being of pure Holiness, but… I do not question why I have received this blessing. I only pray that I use it as best I can.” he nodded.

“But… ye cannae be happy like this…” asked Yvain, staring at him. Up close she was able to see the marks of rot, of decomposition, the telltale signs that what she was looking at had very clearly been dead for a very long time. “Why would ye not just…” she made a gesture across her throat with a finger.

Alonsus shook his head, frowning, “I will not deny the thought did cross my mind more than once, when times were especially hard and when my faith was tested by such… but I believe the Light continues to work within me even as a forsaken for a reason, lady knight. To surrender myself to true death would be to deny what the Light has planned for me, and that would be a horrible sin. Wouldn’t you agree?” he asked.

She cocked her head, still processing what she was seeing, “… I just… th’ Church says that necromancy is… but…” she gestured to him.

He shrugged, “Yes, and when I was still living I would have agreed with such but, when I first regained my mind and reached the ruined city of Lordaeron when the Forsaken were building their new home, well… I did not see mindless monsters. I saw those who felt that the Light had turned its back on them. I saw people who had all they knew and loved torn away from them in a moment of horror and madness.” he nodded, then looked up at her.

“Remember the tenants of our Order, Yvain Steelhammer. Retribution, Holiness, Protection, Justice… and Compassion.” he nodded, “The last one gets forgotten far too often…” he smiled sadly. “They did not ask to become undead any more than I had. Some of them decided to embrace the idea of being monsters, but others? They just wanted help. They wanted to know that life… of a sort… could go on for them even then. How could I ignore them and still call myself true to our faith?” he asked.

“But… th’ Light burns th’ undead. It cannae heal them.” she pointed out, leaning onto the table… and yet, she couldn’t deny his words. There was a truth there. The undead were considered monsters in her own timeline, but… every undead was once an ordinary person.

“But it can guide them Yvain. It can help them find their path. Even if they cannot bear its touch, they can still learn from it, they can remember what it means to follow its teachings. They can become deathguards and protect their fellows, they can fight back against those still loyal to the Scourge and bring justice to them… and they can help each other. They can brew preservatives for dead flesh, they can help stitch new hands to replace lost ones, they can show compassion to each other. For some Forsaken, it is all they have, and it is my duty to help them remember this. The Light never truly forsakes anyone. If our world’s Arthas had only remembered this, we would not be having this conversation right now.” he sighed.

Yvain looked down at the table, wheels turning in her mind. It had been one thing to hear about Arthas from Dareley. It had been quite another thing to see the ruins of Lordaeron City from a distance with Mola’raum and Edwood. This however, meeting one of the founding members of the Order of the Silver Hand raised into undeath and yet continuing to keep to his faith despite that. She closed her eyes, her cheeks burning. She had honestly begun to question her own faith, being stuck here away from her true parents and her home in this bizarre reflection of her world… yet here was a man who kept true to the Light even though his heart no longer beat and he was trapped in a state of unlife, his body slowly rotting away as the years went on.

She felt ashamed. She was supposed to be a paladin, was her faith so weak as to fail such a small test compared to him? She at least had the potential to return home, she could see her family again one day. Alonsus? There was no way to undo the curse of undeath. He would remain this way until his body crumbled to dust unless something destroyed him first and yet here he sat talking about the tenants of the Light and what it meant to keep to one’s faith.

“I… I’m sorry, both o’ ye… I need… I need ta go think about some things…” she whispered.

Alonsus nodded, he could see the conflict inside her. He knew she would need time to process what had happened. Gently he reached out a hand to her’s, and a warm glow enveloped his fingers. “Then go, and may the Light bless you and guide you to where you belong, Yvain Steelhammer.” he replied softly.

She muttered her thanks, then slowly got to her feet and walked out of the room, heading back towards the portal to Stormwind.

Dareley sighed, “Thank ye fer that Archbishop.” he nodded.

The forsaken man smiled softly at him, “My friend, it is both a pleasure and my duty as a follower of the Light. I only pray that your daughter is returned to her home, and that she does not forget what she has learned when she does.” he replied.

“Aye… well, we’ll have to hope.” replied the earthen man, nodding to him.

Stormwind City, an hour later

Yvain made her way up the steps to the Cathedral of the Light, her legs moving almost on automatic as her mind reeled with what she had seen and heard today. She saw the deacon Johnathan and asked for a private prayer room and was led to one.

Inside was a small incense burner and, on the wall, the symbol of the Holy Light. She knelt down, setting her hammer on the floor next to her, and lit the burner.

As the smell of sandalwood filled the area, she bowed her head and whispered, “Light guide me ‘n protect me… This world is so different from me own. It challenges what I was taught growin’ up… ‘n yet… I cannae pretend it dunnae ring true.” she whispered, “… I pray ta ye, light me path ‘n show me th’ truth. Guide me ta keep ta th’ tenents o’ th’ Silver Hand, ‘n grant me th’ strength ta endure until I can go home.”

There was no sudden flash of insight, no bright burst of holiness… and yet… Yvain felt at peace there. Perhaps this is what she needed right now. Some time alone with herself and her faith.

#warcraft #warcraft fanfiction #adventures in azeroth #world of warcraft #the war within

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mariacallous · 5 months ago

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As the Biden administration comes to a close, the White House released a 40-page executive order on Thursday aimed at shoring up federal cybersecurity protections and placing guardrails on the US government’s use of AI. WIRED also spoke with outgoing US ambassador for cyberspace and digital policy, Nathaniel Fick, about the urgency that the Trump administration not cow to Russia and China in the global race for technical dominance. Outgoing FCC chair Jessica Rosenworcel details to WIRED the threats facing US telecoms, at least nine of which were recently breached by China’s Salt Typhoon hackers. Meanwhile, US officials are still scrambling to get a handle on multiple espionage campaigns and other data breaches, with new revelations this week that a breach of AT&T disclosed last summer compromised FBI call and text logs that could reveal the identity of anonymous sources.

Huione Guarantee, the massive online marketplace that researchers say provides an array of services to online scammers, is expanding its offerings to include a messaging app, stablecoin, and crypto exchange and has facilitated a whopping $24 billion in transactions, according to new research. New findings indicate that GitHub’s efforts to crack down on the use of deepfake porn software are falling short. And WIRED did a deep dive into the opaque world of predictive travel surveillance and the companies and governments that are pumping data about international travelers into AI tools meant to detect people who might be a “threat.”

But wait, there's more! Each week, we round up the security and privacy news we didn’t cover in depth ourselves. Click the headlines to read the full stories. And stay safe out there.

US Names One of the Chinese Hackers Allegedly Behind Massive Salt Typhoon Intrusions

China spies, the US spies, everybody spies. Mutual espionage is a geopolitical game played by virtually every nation in the world. So when the US government singles out a single hacker for espionage-focused intrusions, naming him and targeting him with sanctions, he must have spied aggressively—or effectively—enough to have made powerful people very angry.

The US Treasury on Friday imposed sanctions on Yin Kecheng, a 39-year old Chinese man accused of being involved in both the breach of nine US telecommunications companies carried out by the Chinese hacker group known as Salt Typhoon, as well as another recent breach of the US Treasury. In a statement about the news, Treasury alleges that Yin is affiliated with China’s Ministry of State Security and has been a “cyber actor” for over a decade. It also imposed sanctions on Sichuan Juxinhe Network Technology, a company that Treasury says is also associated with Salt Typhoon.

Salt Typhoon’s breach of US telecoms gave Chinese hackers enormous access to the real-time texts and phone calls of Americans, and was reportedly used to spy on president-elect Donald Trump and vice president-elect JD Vance, among other targets. FBI director Christopher Wray has called the telecom breaches China’s "most significant cyberespionage campaign in history.”

China’s Silk Typhoon Hackers Targeted Sanctions and Intelligence in Treasury Breach

As the Treasury hits back at China’s spy operations, it’s also still working to determine the scope of the intrusion some of those same hackers carried out inside its network. An internal Treasury report obtained by Bloomberg found that hackers had penetrated at least 400 of the agency’s PCs and stolen more than 3,000 files in a recent breach. The espionage-focused intrusion appears to have gone after sanctions and law-enforcement related information, the report found, as well as other intelligence materials. Despite that vast access, the intruders didn’t gain access to Treasury’s emails or classified portions of its network, the report states, nor did they leave behind malware that would suggest an attempt at maintaining longer-term access.

FBI Uninstalls Chinese PlugX Malware From Thousands of Machines

The Justice Department revealed this week that the FBI carried out an operation to delete a specimen of malware known as PlugX from 4,200 computers around the world. The malware, which was typically transmitted to computers via infected USB drives, has persisted for at least a decade and been used at times by Chinese state-sponsored hacker groups to target Chinese dissidents. In July of last year, cybersecurity firm Sekoia and French law enforcement took over the command-and-control server behind the malware. This week, the FBI obtained a court order that allowed the bureau to send a self-destruct command to the software on infected machines.

Victims of “PowerSchool” Edtech Data Breach Say “All” of Their Student and Teacher Info Was Stolen

After news earlier this week of a cyberattack in December that breached the US education technology platform PowerSchool, school districts targeted in the intrusion told TechCrunch on Thursday that attackers gained access to “all” stored student and teacher data in their accounts. PowerSchool is used by more than 60 million K-12 students in the US. Hackers gained access to the information by stealing login credentials that gave them access to the company’s customer support portal. The attack has not yet been publicly linked to a specific perpetrator. PowerSchool has not yet disclosed the exact number of victim schools nor whether all of its customers were affected.

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kishorxox · 4 months ago

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Public Safety and Security Market Size, Share, Forecast, & Trends Analysis

Meticulous Research®—a leading global market research company, published a research report titled, ‘Public Safety and Security Market by Offering (Safety Devices, Safety Software, Safety Services), Technology (IoT, AI, Cloud Computing, ML), Application (Data Gathering, Mapping, and 3D Imaging), End Use (Warehouses & Depots, Workplaces, Shopping Malls & Retail Stores) and Geography - Global Forecast to 2031.’

According to this latest publication from Meticulous Research®, the global public safety and security market is expected to reach $514.1 billion by 2031 from an estimated $234.2 billion in 2024, at a CAGR of 11.9% during the forecast period. The growth of the public safety and security market is driven by the growing utilization of AI, ML, and analytics technologies in public safety and security applications, increasing awareness and initiatives for public safety and security, and government focus on managing the needs of the rising urban population. However, the significant initial investments required to implement public safety and security solutions restrain the growth of this market. The integration of cloud computing and big data analytics in public safety and security solutions and the rising incidence of terrorism and security breaches are expected to generate market growth opportunities. However, the complexities in implementing advanced public safety and security systems and the rising cases of data theft are major challenges for market stakeholders.

The global public safety and security market is segmented by offering, technology, application, end use, and geography. The study also evaluates industry competitors and analyses the country and regional-level markets.

Based on offering, the global public safety and security market is segmented into safety devices, safety software, and safety services. In 2024, the safety services segment is expected to account for the largest share of the global public safety and security market. The large market share of this segment is attributed to the increasing demand for specialized safety services to address specific safety and security challenges. Safety services such as critical infrastructure security, emergency medical, firefighting, and disaster management services are critical in ensuring the safety and well-being of citizens and critical assets. Moreover, the safety services segment is projected to register the highest CAGR during the forecast period.

Based on technology, the global public safety and security market is segmented into the Internet of Things, artificial intelligence, cloud computing, machine learning, cybersecurity, and other technologies. In 2024, the Internet of Things segment is expected to account for the largest share of the global public safety and security market. The large share of the segment is attributed to the rising demand for real-time data insights and improved situational awareness. Moreover, the Internet of Things segment is projected to register the highest CAGR during the forecast period.

Based on application, the global public safety and security market is segmented into data gathering, mapping and 3D imaging, threat detection, security and incident management, monitoring, fire and explosion examination, network security, and other applications. In 2024, the security and incident management segment is expected to account for the largest share of the global public safety and security market. The large market share of this segment is attributed to the need to respond effectively to emergencies, the increasing adoption of smart city technologies, and the integration of IoT devices. Moreover, the security and incident management segment is projected to register the highest CAGR during the forecast period.

Based on end use, the global public safety and security market is segmented into warehouses depots, workplaces, shopping malls & retail stores, schools & universities, hospitals & healthcare, residential, transportation, and other end uses. In 2024, the transportation segment is expected to account for the largest share of the global public safety and security market. The large share of this segment is attributed to the growing concern of terrorist threats and passenger safety. Advances in contactless ticketing and facial recognition for identity verification are driving the adoption of modern transportation security solutions. Furthermore, the implementation of AI-based video analytics for crowd monitoring contributes to the growth of this segment. However, the hospitals and healthcare segment is projected to register the highest CAGR during the forecast period.

Based on geography, the public safety and security market is segmented into North America, Europe, Asia-Pacific, Latin America, and the Middle East & Africa. In 2024, North America is expected to account for the largest share of the global public safety and security market. The large share of this region is attributed to the rising adoption of digital technology and data due to the growing need for improving decision-making, promoting digital inclusivity and equity, creating a collaborative ecosystem, prioritizing citizen safety and health, establishing trust and transparency, and developing resilience and adaptability to manage change effectively. However, Europe is slated to register the highest growth at a CAGR during the forecast period.

Key Players

The key players operating in the global public safety and security market are Hexagon AB (Sweden), Fujitsu Ltd. (Japan), Robert Bosch GmbH (Germany), Atos SE (France), Cisco Systems, Inc. (U.S.) Saab AB (Sweden), Airbus SE (Netherlands), Siemens AG (Germany), Intel Corporation (U.S.), Fotokite AG (Switzerland), CityShob (Israel), 3xLOGIC (U.S.), L3Harris Technologies, Inc. (U.S.), OnSolve (U.S.) and Haystax (U.S.).

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Which are the high-growth market segments in terms of offering, technology, application, end use, and geography?

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What are the major drivers, restraints, opportunities, and challenges in the global public safety and security market?

Who are the major players in the market, and what are their market shares?

How is the competitive landscape for the global public safety and security market?

What are the recent developments in the global public safety and security market?

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#Public Safety and Security Market #Surveillance Cameras #Sensors #Biometric and Authentication Devices #Safety Alarms #Intruder Detection Devices #Critical Communication Devices #Geographic Information Systems #Access Control Software #Building Management Software #Vehicle Recognition Software #Behavior analytics software #Disaster Management Services #Critical Infrastructure Security Services #Emergency Medical Services #Firefighting Services

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dimalink · 6 months ago

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Light year – lasers like a light years

Pixel art for today based on videogame Star Wars Dark Forces for computer system Ibm Pc Ms Dos. It is a shooter with first person view. About Star Wars. About most real Star Wars. And it is so serious they have there! It is hard to be more serious! Space bases.

And blaster rifles! Such a big space station. In space. At the planets. When I launch the game, I was impressed by size. And so detailed rebuild of Star Wars universe. Everything is so real and three dimensional. And blasters pew pew. They fly in all the sides.

And this is my drawing based on Star Wars Dark Forces (Ms Dos). In space. You find out yourself at the space station. And it is a shooter about space. Light year. And laser is flying as a light year. Such a white flash before the eyes.

Fast space ship not big approach to space station. And slowly opened a entrance door. It is hiss from the door. Gear is rotating. Lamps are flashing. Electronics works. Door is slowly starting to open. A little of vapor. And door is opened. You go forward though the enter. It is a big space station. You have a blaster type stormtrooper rifle in your hands.

You are making enter with accuracy, and you go into a empty room. It is little dark here. And all around, a lamps are flashing here and there. And a noise from electronics machines make you calm, makes you feel calm. And lots of indicators are flashing. Every space station even a small space ship – it is a complex device. There are lots of computers and tech. And everything need to work good.

You are trying to make a silent steps. With the goal - no one to hear you. From the dark you are going into a light corridor. Here it is more light. You look at the different sides. No one is here. It is good. You are again moving to the part of the room where it is dark. To hide in a shadows in it is a best way. Until they detect you. You need to find a main computer. You do not know certainly where it is and how does it look.

Now you are calm. But after a few minutes, worker of the station come to check a entrance dock. And he gets the idea that you use false codes. And a point, about - there is intruder at the base. Alarm will turn on. And stormtrooper to appear. Until you have few minutes to move as far as you can to get into the deep of the station. To get closer to the center of the station.

And later for every corridor and every passage it will be a crossfire. Cover – shooting. Cover – shooting. And it will be until the very end.

I also remember a game for Sega three dimensional about alien space ship. So, it is also with three dimensional graphics. It is also interesting theme. And I remember an intro for book Solaris. It is also interesting. About how enter door is opening.

And I also remember a start of a movie Star Wars Episode 6. With crossfire at the space station with blasters. Excellent visual scene. But it is a retro sci fi. Maybe it is even better than things that there are today, as I can say. Blaster such a shooter based on Star Wars Episode 6. Well, saying the truth, only a little picture. And a little of intro text. It is only a drawing!

Dima Link is making retro videogames, apps, a little of music, write stories, and some retro more.

WEBSITE: http://www.dimalink.tv-games.ru/home_eng.html ITCHIO: https://dimalink.itch.io/

TUMBLR: https://dimalink.tumblr.com/ BLOGGER: https://dimalinkeng.blogspot.com/ MASTODON: https://mastodon.social/@DimaLink

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spidermilkshake · 1 year ago

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Until September

More RE fanfics--more mutants, more corporate shenanigans. There is fluff! Also a rival company commando is blitzed by a Tyrant, but, uh, this is Resident Evil. Even the nicest scenes are bookended by scary.

Rating: Teen (TW for suggestive language, human experimentation, dehumanization, medical/lab settings and stuff, plus also human adults cuss like human adults, some obvious child neglect and endangerment, alcohol abuse, implied animal abuse)

Mr. X's long first assignment--to be upper-level Tyrant Project researcher Dr. Julian Ramirez's personal bodyguard as he spends his summer at his fancy house bought with his evil corporation money. Having a test mission prototype Tyrant on your property to help flatten any intruders or rival company agents that sneak in is apparently a common perk if the company's board likes your work. Ramirez, uh, has an interesting home life, and T-00 is smart enough to detect some of that despite this being its first experience of humans not poking it in a lab or putting it through combat training in a top-secret facility...

5: Until September

From that point, after a short cargo helicopter ride and another in the back of a large civilian armored car, T-00… “Mr. X”… experienced the brief life of Dr. Ramirez’s at-home lab.

Situated in a cozy, deep-red corner of northern California, the man had the benefit of the rural landscape for all manner of reasons. One being his bunker laboratory which he fiddled around with variants of common viral and bacterial elements within, as well as examining various domesticated animal species’ genomes to try and discover another, more advantageous quirk that could be added to the Tyrant project. Some of the sources of these genomes could be found on the small attached ranch property in the form of a somewhat decrepit horse and several large, semi-feral cattle. A highly-pampered golden retriever mix also bounced its way around the property, but it could hardly be lumped in with the farm animals considering how loving and attentive Dr. Ramirez seemed to become on sight of the canine. This animal was about as untrained as the cows—though it balked at any close quarters with the Tyrant, probably smelling something was off about the inoffensive but intimidating newcomer.

The Tyrant was ushered swiftly into a portion of the swanky abode which bordered the laundry and a small guest room on the first day. Between these two locations, the doctor had prepared a simple rest area for the bioweapon to reside in while it was not to be seen—roughly the size of the small laundry though without the obstructing machines, T-00 noted the heavily-built twin bedframe and the fitting mattress, which it assumed it was meant to rest on. It… was not bad, now that it had a few minutes to contemplate it.

Okay, it was more than “not bad”. Mattresses were invented for a reason, and the insufficient nature of those holding chamber benches became richly obvious to the beast that had never experienced proper back support before. It had slept a solid nine hours the first night, until summoned by a cheerful call of its nickname—the longest stint of sleep it had ever known.

Otherwise, the Tyrant which Dr. Ramirez called “Mr. X” stayed a moment, or a meter or two, behind him (depending on what the man requested, and what the Tyrant’s highly-tuned senses for danger dictated). The man spent a lot of time in the small bunker lab, checking fuse banks before booting up huge computers to run an equally massive hypermicroscope device in order to manipulate pieces of dead SARS and Hepatitis delta-virus, picking out segments of RNA and comparing them to Umbrella’s sample slides of base genes. He often made spunky commentary, knowing it was only the so-far nonverbal Tyrant hearing him, but based on his specific, jovial responses it knew he could only be speaking only to it.

Despite the doctor’s fancy and frequent social life, he was very lonely. After dark fell, no other human occupied the languidly-spread and draftily large house in the hills. The man still chatted happily—sometimes too happily—with his newly-won bioweapon attendant.

The bioweapon had once or twice also stepped out with him, and a very flinchy, nervous man whom the doctor’d called a “trainer”, to see the old horse and the half-dozen cows. T-00 eyed the dusty, vacantly-staring creatures staying well back from the bioweapon. They behaved much like B.O.W.s with none or very rusty training. The lone horse would come right to the gate for Dr. Ramirez’s trainer, even with the towering creature feet away, though the whites of its eyes flared plainly as it stood, ears pinning and legs shaking for the trainer to check its hooves and teeth.

T-00 focused instead on the cows, not wishing to interfere unintentionally on the equine check-over. It locked eyes with a large, rusty-brown beast that had very small, stubby horns. The animal stamped its rear legs softly, nostrils flaring. Strange. The creature was fairly small compared to the others in the group, though it placed itself front and center regardless—a “leader” of sorts, making all of the protective motions towards the others that the position entailed. A much larger steer of a mostly black color hid ineffectually behind her—sharing many features with this cow.

“Come on! We’re done Mr. X,” the doctor called from the gate, the first indication it had quietly shuffled a step inside the paddock area to watch the animals more closely. With an instinctual start, it turned and tromped off after its current objective.

It wished the animals and its master’s use of the Tyrant as a social interaction stand-in had been the most predictable parts of its mission. No—that honor would go to the once-monthly incident of rival agents attempting to gain access to Ramirez’s nuclear-shielded bunker. Irritated out of its comfortable rest, the Tyrant followed the clinking and ticking of attempts to bypass the lock code and the other measures to find a body-armored individual in front of the small cellar entrance, like a sitting duck as they focused on the loud—annoying—puzzle portion. It wasn’t clear if they ever realized an eight-foot mutant weapon was creeping up on them before it happened. Regardless, Ramirez would have one of the informed Umbrella staff bag up the body and tote it off the next morning as the household came awake.

--------

It was one week during the hellishly dry heat of summer than Mr. X encountered a true challenge to its adaptable wits—and it began more or less during one of the more predictable, boring parts of its duties. The bioweapon lurked a few meters behind the doctor in his home office, blocking the large window with its even larger back while Ramirez was distracted on the phone.

The Tyrant could only guess at some of this, but it did recognize the codenames and designations used for various B.O.W.s:

“So the train was just…? All of them?” Julian Ramirez scrubbed at his patchy stubble, “Jesus… Well, do you know how it happened? …Uh huh, I’m sure it came back inconclusive. There’s never any hypercompetitive, jealous pricks trying to off each other at Umbrella labs, huh.”

“Speaking of, do you have any idea what they’re gonna do about Birkin?” There was a long pause before a tinny squeak of the other voice picked up, “Oh come on. They practically know it was him. Who else has been sabotaging projects involving T for months? …It was T on that train, right? …Okay, they even know it’s that strain—so who else has access to the Arklay lab who would?”

There was an even longer silence this time before the other line began to speak again; and once it did Ramirez’s grip on the phone tightened, his dark complexion going sweaty and almost impossibly pale. The change was so extreme that T-00’s senses honed in and it watched its master with mounting concern, convinced the doctor was about to collapse out of some kind of medical distress.

“… Since when? …Really, that recent?” He finally dredged up his voice again, wiping furiously at his brows and mustache, staring down at his own shaking hand in bafflement as if wondering who put all of that sweat there, “So where was Willy in all this?”

“…Ah.”

“So… they’re sure it wasn’t him… Well. I’ll see about giving Teifer a call soon if she’s got questions for me.”

After Ramirez hung up, he glanced over his shoulder at his house-Tyrant with an indecipherable expression, which had Mr. X straightening up to full attention. Then, with a heavy sigh he turned in his chair towards the squat glass bottle of Pilár dark rum that he kept on one side of the desk and unscrewed the cap in a ritual which usually—T-00 had observed—took place later in the day. The powerful alcohol swirled into a coffee mug and shortly after was slammed into the man’s mouth, eliciting a rough grunt as he fought the burn of the unhealthily-large shot.

Mr. X relaxed somewhat as Ramirez returned to the phone. The next conversation had more that the bioweapon recognized, but was even more confusing:

“Hey, Teifer! It’s Ramirez,” he sounded as peppy as always, despite the haggard look in his eyes and the rum flooding into his bloodstream, “Yeah, he told me you needed to hear from me… eh? Ah, he did mention what happened up at the Arklay lab…”

He leaned back, hooded eyes inspecting his propped-up shoes as he took in his colleague’s words. He rolled them upon a certain part of her story:

“Hey, hey—you’re getting too stressed. Listen: I get the risk. But Cerberus specimens physically can’t spread the virus. That shouldn’t be your main concern.

“Those dogs don’t have T in them anymore—they’re kinda like the modern Tyrants, alright? We enhance the genome, we infect—with the delta strain for the Cerberus—and let the mutation take its course, okay? Then when they’re fully baked, we quarantine the specimens, give them a T-virus vaccination, and a course of anti-retrovirals just to be sure before those guys go to training. Which, by the way, you should be able to get a hold of someone at N.E.S.T. with experience training animal B.O.W.s. They’ve got lots of new Hunters coming out of there, they can help you wrangle those dogs when the time comes…”

“Hm? …Ah… Yeah, see, that one is a problem,” Ramirez’s shoulders finally slouched more naturally, and he got a level, if slightly slushy, tone of voice back, “Rabies is very real and a good explanation for any ‘public eye’ stuff… If the bear story is true you’ll want to get a squad with heavy weapons and track down every rabid animal claim in a five-mile radius, then be sure to bag and burn everything they shoot.”

“..? Teifer, you know that’s even easier. Quarantine and trace identity, burn the premises, then let the weaponized-virals R&D team see the data.”

“…What journalist?” At this new turn in the conversation Ramirez shot upright in his chair, “… You don’t have a name? …Uh-huh. … Hm. Well, if he knows too much he probably already knows he’s dead.”

“Right. See you in fall. Bye now.”

After Ramirez hung up, he sat for a long while, head in hands. Mr. X let a good ten minutes pass before the alarm bells started to go off, and the huge mutant huffed as it took a careful step forward. At the creak of the floors, Dr. Ramirez raised his head again.

“Eh?” He twisted around, “What is it, Mr. X?”

The bioweapon had a number of words that it might have wanted to put out—“Are you well?”, “What was that about?”, “Do you need help?”, or even “What the fuck?”—but it had no idea how to move its throat, or tongue, or lips to do such a thing. He did the next best thing: Mr. X grunted, managing to make the trailing end of the noise rise up in pitch with wordless questions, as humans did in such a situation.

“Smart fella,” Ramirez gave a soft laugh. “One of these days I’ll have to get you practice in saying a few words. I’m fine. Can you just… turn and check out the window for a while? I have to call my ex,” he added the last part quickly, which while confusing did not hold up the Tyrant very long in turning around and scanning the exterior of the house for potential threats.

The phone rang several times, with Ramirez left waiting. Mr. X’s pinprick pupils hovered over the entrance gate, then the edge of the pinyon treeline, then over to where the dog was laid out in a patch of dirt by one of the front garden walls. Finally, someone answered the doctor:

“Linda… hey. No don’t—” there was an insistent buzz of muffled vocals from the speaker, “It’s about the weekend, Linda—look, you want me to just not warn you? Huh?”

“Okay okay. Look, I just need you to know I have to be out a few hours Saturday to work with someone. Don’t worry—” he interrupted the agonized screech from the speaker, “—I have someone to watch her until I get back. Don’t worry. I wouldn’t walk back on this, mi amor.”

“… Okay, Jesus, I won’t do it again. Just… noon Saturday, right? I’ll be there.”

The phone slammed on the receiver. Mr. X peeked back over his lapels in anticipation of a command. There was only so much time in the office, however decorated and airy, that Ramirez could stand and Mr. X tended to agree with this habit. It was in the loft area of the house, and the ceilings were a foot too low for the Tyrant’s comfort.

“Right. Mr. X?” The bioweapon swiveled around in reply, “I’m going to fetch some things from the basement. Take up a guard downstairs, yeah?”

Mr. X nodded with eagerness, letting the somewhat tipsy human lead the way out the door and down the stairs. This was an ideal task for both of them, considering the ninety-plus temperatures outside, and once the man had vanished down the too-narrow steps to the musty, refreshingly cool basement level the Tyrant posted himself in a comfortable nook within sight of the open basement door, the front door, and the downstairs hall towards the kitchen area. It watched. Nothing much reached its eyes or ears—except for a distant snort of a horse or cow, a wasp bouncing against the nearest window in a frenzy to find food or shade, and a clatter followed by a Spanish-language curse from the cluttered sublevel. Business as usual.

-------

On Saturday, the omen which Mr. X innocently overheard came to the doorstep.

In the morning, with Ramirez nursing a pickle-juice-based hangover cocktail and holding a hardboiled egg like it was a sergeant’s switch from bygone days, Mr. X was confronted with a series of warnings which it knew right away were serious, very serious, and urgent… but that he didn’t entirely grasp right away.

“Mr. X! Listen—listen,” the man pressed his eggless hand into the lapel of his tame mutant’s trenchcoat, “Today is going to be a bit different. I need you to be… uh… well… different.”

T-00 stared down at the man pressing himself as close to its face as possible, and gave a low grunt as he tilted his head.

“Well, I mean…” Ramirez let up on the contact, as aware as they came that pushing the living weapons too hard or confusing them with contradictory orders could come with serious consequences, “Mr. X, you are going to meet my daughter today. She’s visiting over the weekend and will be here until roughly 11 a.m. on Monday.”

Ramirez waited, as if to hear an acknowledgement from the creature staring him down with wide, perplexed, but still willing eyes. The man sighed, leaning into his hands which had settled on the Tyrant’s chest, “While she’s here, I want you to put your protective orders over me as secondary. While she’s here, you protect her, is that understood?”

Daughter. Mr. X had not heard anything of Ramirez’s family before, but it had an intuitive sense of what the word “DAUGHTER” meant. The creature took a deep, sharp inhale, then gave a rough, affirmative growl at the same time it bobbed its head.

“Good… good…” Ramirez reached up and patted the Tyrant on the shoulder, grin of relief almost palpable without flashing it within sight. Mr. X reflexively swelled with the praise.

“She’ll be here at noon, and you must watch over her very closely until about four. If she needs water, get her a cup and fill it from the fridge. If she gets hungry, take her to the bottom left cabinet and she’ll pick what she wants. Otherwise just make sure no one and nothing hurts her. I’ll introduce you—”

—and then, the kitchen phone rang, and the pager on the doctor’s hip bleeped with an annoying tone. The man rounded and went to answer, while the biomutant stood silently processing the future orders. Daughter… did that mean juvenile or adult daughter? Probably… juvenile. It would not need to be providing water on demand to an adult, or show an adult to the bottom left cabinet. There was also no reason to limit an adult to that particular cabinet, which only contained the sacks of undiluted nutrient gel for its own fluid intake along with boxes of crackers, jars of peanut butter, and a few bags of veggie chips and other “health snacks” as the doctor had called them. It was… not exactly designed for the task of childcare, and it shuffled anxiously in place as it dawned on him that it would have to figure it out with no more instruction. It could… learn this… right?

Humans seemed to be fairly unbothered by the duty to watch over their offspring—so it must not be that difficult.

------

Mr. X had been ordered to stand still inside the gates of the garden in an area half-concealed with shade when the large sedan pulled into the gravel circle at the end of the rural mountain road and crunched to a stop. Its keen vision spotted the small figure step out of the passenger side and quickly have an arm snatched up in a control grip by the small woman who had emerged from the driver’s side. There was a bitter argument between all three, which quelled after a minute or two while the sedan’s engine puttered impatiently. The woman released the little one, who did not run to either parent and instead stepped towards the gate, keeping her large brown eyes on both of them, as if wary of them following her.

After a minute the car’s engine revved up as it returned down the uneven paving, disappearing in a few seconds around a bend. Ramirez was left wearily standing by where it had once parked, a small bag dangling from one hand (presumably the belongings of his child, packed into a tiny, colorful package).

Mr. X glanced down at a small sound and was suddenly locking eyes with the absolute tiniest human he had ever seen. Dark hair and cut short, dark skin with a few freckles, and those huge brown eyes which widened further upon noticing the massive, trenchcoat-clad form skulking just inside the property line.

“Papá!” The shrill voice was at such decibels and pitch that the Tyrant was forced to stagger back. Such a tiny body was so, so loud! The bioweapon resisted the urge to raise up its hands to cup over its ears, but its knees did bend and buckle before the doctor rushed up and grabbed the girl around the shoulders:

“What’s wrong, m’ija?”

“M-monstruo!” She pointed straight to the half-subdued, heavily-stressed visage of the startled Tyrant.

“Oh,” Ramirez hugged his daughter closer and chuckled, as if there was some clear, and obvious, and worse trivial confusion at play. He knelt to where he was halfway between his child and his personal Bio-Organic Weapon.

“It’s okay, m’ija—this is my bodyguard. I promise, he’s nice, okay?”

The child peeked over the shabby fabric of Ramirez’s polo shirt, meeting the obviously inhuman pupils of the giant form that had frightened her. Without telepathy, it was unknown if she found a lack of evil within, but she did relent and sniffle up the start of her tears.

“Bodyguard?”

“Sí, for work,” Ramirez gave a strained smile, “It’s okay, he won’t hurt you. Look, see? He didn’t mean to scare you.”

The doctor had slightly pressed the girl further around his shoulder, closer to the colossal form. Mr. X sensed the girl’s resistance to this and took a step slightly back—almost mirroring her trying to push herself back away from it. Its hearts thudded stronger in a sympathetic feedback loop upon seeing the feeble struggle she was putting up against her own father. He was forcing her towards a powerful monster, knowing full well what it could do. What then could it do, a being built for combat?

It did what only its inbuilt reflexes urged it to do—and bowed its head until it lost eye contact with either of them. Mr. X had assumed Dr. Ramirez’s child would know what a T-103 was. It was now clear that she did not know at all what he was; she might think it was a human. But a big human staring hard at a tiny child was… threatening.

“You’re okay. C’mon let me introduce you!” Ramirez’s voice chimed out as if no terror or stress was in evidence, “This fella is Mr. X. Don’t ask his real name—it’s secret. He’ll keep you safe so long as you’re here.

“Mr. X! Eyes up.”

T-00 reluctantly obeyed, and the first thing its eyes met was the petrified face of the girl still trying to cling onto her father’s shoulder after he’d pushed her to be well within the bioweapon’s reach. Its back twitched before it forced itself to stay completely still, the only other movement he made the uneasy blinking, and the gaze flicking back and forth—from the man, to the girl, to the man.

“Mr. X, this is my daughter, Mariposa.” He smiled, “You remember I was talking about her yesterday, yeah? Be nice to her. She’s only—how old are you, Mari?”

Was it… normal for humans to lose track of how old their offspring were? Mr. X felt his brows twitch, and somehow this microscopic expression which went in opposition of her father’s constant push was what Mariposa needed to see to give a quick swallow of nerves and relax a fraction:

“Ten.”

“That’s my girl! C’mon now, let’s get your stuff inside,” Ramirez stood up, all but shrugging his little girl off of himself like an annoying weight and picking up the backpack from where he’d set it down beside him. Apparently only Mr. X heard the soft whimper she let out as she stumbled and scurried to put her father back between herself and the menacing giant; T-00 took the opportunity to also do away with this forced close-quarters and took a much larger step back. It hesitated to follow the two into the front door for a few moments, especially as it spied the child sneaking worried glances over her hardly-evident shoulders at the creature.

“Mr. X! Come on you, get out of the heat!” Its eye twitched a bit at the impatient tone of the order, but ducked his head low to negotiate the entryway and squeezed into the welcome air conditioning. Ramirez had been rushing around the open concept downstairs, dropping off Mariposa’s belongings onto one of the kitchen chairs before scoping around for his own briefcase, wallet, and the keys to his armored truck. The girl meanwhile had posted herself up behind the kitchen island, staring over bewildered and clearly scared at her parent preparing to leave her alone with a monster.

“Right… that should be it. M’ija, come give a kiss ‘bye for now—Papá’s got to go into town for some last-minute business.”

“You can’t leave me with—”

“Shh! Don’t be rude. Mr. X is a big teddy bear, really—relax!”

The Tyrant itself shot the doctor a dubious look; bear was maybe an accurate comparison at least in terms of size and weight, but… teddy? That was soft and harmless—and Mr. X knew by now it was very much not harmless, and… probably not soft.

“Papá, please—”

“No no, you listen. I’ve got to do this and it’s not a choice. You stay here and if you need anything just ask him. I won’t be gone for more than a few hours.”

With that, Ramirez brushed past the Tyrant and swept out the door. The sound of the latch setting again ushered in a new, heavy silence. The bioweapon could feel the girl’s stare boring into the side of his head—watching him for any sudden moves with the same alertness that a Tyrant might train onto a potential threat. Understanding somewhat, Mr. X held completely still and listened for any indication that the tiny figure was moving out from her cover.

The click and whirr of the fridge fan cutting on startled them both—Mariposa shrieked, the Tyrant jolted upright so hard the flooring shuddered, and it turned to see that the child had ducked further down and was only barely peeking over the island countertop at it. Briefly grumbling with embarrassment that it had reacted so strongly to so little, Mr. X eyed the floor as it reached up and scratched at the deformed grooves on its jaw. Being scared of something new was one thing… being scared of the box that kept the treats from spoiling was another entirely…

“Um… Mr. X..?”

He froze mid-itch at the trepidatious voice; the Tyrant turned to find that Mariposa had crept around the side of the kitchen. While still keeping a chair between herself and the hulking brute, she had cut the space between them by half, maybe more. Without the insufferable pressure of her unobservant (or uncaring) father forcing either of their hands, she seemed to calm down to the idea that this monster was “housebroken”—at least in the sense that it wouldn’t break the house. Not without orders to.

Mariposa’s nose appeared to wrinkle up in contemplation as the Tyrant continued to watch her, making no move or noise but the normal bassy rush of its breathing.

“…You don’t say much, do you.”

Mr. X gave a sluggish blink; it could try to speak a word of two, but it wouldn’t have the slightest idea how the attempt would turn out—and it feared it may turn out like the ugly bellows and groans other Tyrants could more easily produce, so T-00 simply gave a creaky shake of its head.

“So, you don’t talk?” Another shake, and Mariposa bit her lip as she processed what this meant for their hours stuck unattended together. “But… you listen?”

It made sure it gave an emphatic nod to this, and then tilted its head as if alertly waiting to listen to her at this very second.

“Okay…” She stepped out with care and no small degree of lingering trembles from the chair, peeking over her shoulder towards the back garden door, “May I… go outside? I wanna see Benji…”

Benji. Dog’s name. The Tyrant recalled. The back garden of the house was a forty foot by fifteen foot rectangle with no known toxic or thorny plants, and it was northeasterly. Getting more and more shade soon. It should be safe; it would not be blinded by the California sunshine, and both sunburn and heatstroke would be less able to get at either of them. Mr. X gave a soft grunt that he hoped sounded affirmative and nodded.

“You have to come with me, huh?” Another nod. “Okay… um… I’m going now.” The Tyrant watched as the small human very warily made her way to the back door, shooting looks its way every few steps as if to brace for the moment the massive form would start pursuing. Waiting until she had her hand to the door’s handle, T-00 started to follow with the lightest shuffling steps it could manage.

The two of them kept about ten feet apart at minimum—keeping close tabs on each other but not being so jumpy or anxious now. This got even easier in the open space of the garden, especially as the golden-furred canine came loping around the side of the dry clumps of Pampas grass and wagged his whole body on sight of the little girl. T-00 planted its back to the house wall close by so it had the widest field of view and the most sun protection, and for a while it was almost as if the parental badgering, the uncomfortable introduction, and the sheer aura of child-endangerment which permeated the whole situation was no factor. The oblivious and overjoyed dog was a big help with that, and Mariposa bounded around with it as they gave the oversized tennis ball chewtoy a new coat of slobber and montane dust before both flopping down on the patio pavers and engaging in the kind of lazy cuddling that Mr. X could only give a curious stare. It had no context for this kind of contact; it sometimes bordered on violent the way she scratched at the domestic canine, but… Benji seemed to like it, and the dog rolling onto her lap and nuzzling her wet nose into her face was even drawing a few giggles. How… uncoordinated. How… how… something that he couldn’t connect the word for, but knew in its bones the concept of.

Shit, damn… something. Other-expletive. It was on the tip of its… tongue? Brain? Subconscious linguistic knowledge? It knew what the “good uncoordinated not-serious companionship stress-relief good thing” was. It knew it. But a good word that summed the idea up had somehow not been something it had been exposed to in the growth chamber, it supposed.

After more than an hour both dog and child were worn out, and their Tyrant chaperone had relaxed more, eyes half-hooded and drowsy. The sound of shoes scuffing nearby had it snapping back to alertness, and on looking down it found a surprise in the form of the little girl craning her neck up expectantly, hand just short of tugging at one of the gigantic hands. Benji padded up close by, wagging away as usual.

“Mr. X, I’m gonna go in now. Can I take Benji with me?”

T-00 remembered the dog being allowed inside before—especially when it was as hot as it had been today, so as he unstuck his back from the pebble-stucco of the wall he gave her a slight bob of the head. Benji led the way with tongue wagging in time with his tail.

In the artificially-cooled interior, Mr. X let out a low huff. His mass was such that it was difficult for him to regulate his temperature once it got much hotter than 25 degrees Celsius. Staying in line of sight of the happy dog and the small child as they curled onto the floor by the couch, tired and joyous, it tried to focus otherwise on letting its system cool off back to normal. But after a moment, Mariposa asked a question, which took the Tyrant a moment to register from its unexpectedness:

“Mr. X? Are you okay?”

The Tyrant gave a forceful nod, which perhaps had the opposite effect as the large droplet of its sweat dived from the tip of its nose to the floor at the movement. Mariposa fixed it with an expression that it felt was familiar—maybe it had tried to aim that one at its own trainers, weeks and months ago…

“Mr. X, do you know where dad keeps the ice cream?”

T-00 truthfully did not, though the swift flicker of its pupils towards the freezer—where anything “ice” would logically go—betrayed something to the small girl. She stood and joined the hulking bioweapon in the kitchen area of the downstairs, pointing to the freezer section of the fridge.

“Can you check if it’s in there? I can’t reach…”

T-00 narrowed its eyes slightly, even as it took two ginger steps closer and reached to open the upper section of the refrigerator. There was a blast of refreshingly chilly vapor as it did so, and after that had passed it blinked rapidly and studied the slim pickings of the contents. There was, however, something which claimed to be “ice cream” within—and in a short motion it plucked the small box from its confines and let the freezer door swing shut and seal while it turned the container about. Not sure what to make of it, Mr. X lowered the package to where Mariposa could read the labels on its side.

“Ooh…” At the way her eyes lit up, the Tyrant had a panicky feeling that it had just disobeyed Ramirez’s orders for this short guardianship period. But then… with how hot it was, and the man’s daughter had just been outside for so long…

“…Are you allowed to have one?” Mariposa hesitated at reaching into the box, still lowered to where she could access it. Mr. X didn’t really have an answer. It assumed “no”, since it had never been given one of these “ice cream” things or even informed of their storage area. Almost as soon as it had managed a short shake of its head, Mariposa had pulled out two of the oblong objects and pushed one into the Tyrant’s free hand.

“I’ll give you one, if you don’t say nothing to papá,” Mariposa smirked. Mr. X lifted up the comparatively tiny frozen treat as it returned the rest of the box to its normal position, and met the child’s gaze again.

He nodded. Whatever the damn thing was, he was starting to smell it even through the foil wrapping, and whatever it was caused unrelenting rivulets of drool to keep forming at the edges of its tightly-sealed lips. Whatever it was was the good stuff, by the nutrient-hungry standards of a Tyrant. And it was cold as ice, still remaining so after more than a minute in the grip of an overheated bioweapon. Why would Ramirez not let his daughter have one of these, if they seemed so good?

Oh.

Oh!

“Ice cream”, as it turned out, was indefinite proof that the universe was fundamentally good. After what by any numerical measure was only a few minutes, the Tyrant felt like it had experienced an hour of sugary and creamy wonder, all from the three-inch chunk of what Mariposa had specified was an “ice cream sandwich”—the brick of vanilla-flavored goodness wedged between chocolate cookies. T-00 barely knew what these specifications meant but committed them to memory anyways. At least, once it had become able to focus on any other incoming stimuli after the intense deliciousness had faded into the past. It let out an animalistic groan of pleasure before it considered how it may sound frightening to its nearby charge; it needn’t have worried, since Mariposa was licking the melted remnants from her fingers with similar noise and fervor though at a higher pitch and smoother, human vocal tones. Mr. X scooped up the foil pieces where they’d each left them and deposited them in the garbage bin. Mariposa had now settled on the rug in front of the television, petting Benji where he lay half-asleep and scanning through stations in search of something she liked. Mr. X eyed the temptingly large, luxurious couch which he generally was not given much chance to occupy; it was close to where his protective target now was, and he would have good peripherals on each side from there… why… not? But perhaps the most important reason was Mariposa:

At the heavy creak of the wood flooring under the rugs behind her, the young girl paused in her channel surfing and caught the bioweapon red-handed halfway to the couch.

“Is the couch, ah… strong enough?”

Mr. X nodded. Somehow, the couch always held. Of course, it was designed to hold at least four humans weighing over two hundred pounds each, so a single Tyrant weighing almost that much by itself would still be within its design limits. Though, it could still be a fluke. It had only sat here twice before now, so it was still possible… Thankfully, even though it did creak and groan very tellingly, the couch did hold well enough that the Tyrant was able to relax. Mariposa started watching something which showed a number of strange animals—they were larger than humans, though by the way they moved slightly lighter than most Tyrants. Or at least more graceful. The camera zoomed and focused, and T-00 realized these were horses—fully-fleshed, healthy-looking horses, much unlike the half-lamed and raggedy one it had seen in person.

“The horse only arrived in the American Southwest by chance… Most experts agree that the wild horses we see here are all descendants of domesticated horses brought to the southern part of the continent by the Spanish as early as the 1400s…” The Tyrant almost managed a frown out of pure confusion; despite what the voiceover said, the visuals of the program showed clearly labelled petrogylphs from the area in question from several thousand years prior to the “1400s” which had horses pointed out by convenient labels.

“Nowadays, amongst the dry chaparral hills and the prairie plains, wild horse herds roam under the protection of a conservation branch of the US government—allowing for a certain number of wild mustang horses to be corralled, auctioned off, and trained to become domestic horses once more so that the many thousands of their wild cousins can continue to run free…”

Why these apparently thousands of creatures could not do so without something of this sort occurring every year did not make particular sense—but thankfully the program moved on swiftly to another animal from the same region:

“The Harris Hawk is another wondrous creature found in the American Southwest—one which boasts the title of the only bird of prey in the world which will hunt in packs.” T-00’s eyes flashed at the swift movement on the screen as several handsome-looking birds swept into view, and then looped joyfully into a thermal which took them high over a desert landscape. “Working together in the harsh arid environment, the Harris Hawks can between a group of three catch more than ten times the number of small rodents and reptiles as their closest relatives could on their own, making the cooperative arrangement entirely worth it. Falconers have begun capturing and taming these magnificent birds, bending their amazing talents and social habits to their own purposes…”

… There seemed to be a pattern here. Animal was found useful—animal got caught and used for human interests. It almost seemed like all of the fanciful camera shots of wild things running and flying and the long-winded narration was just introduction to this idea. Mariposa apparently found this as dry and bizarre as they Tyrant did, and switched the channels again until she landed on one that cycled through daytime gameshows.

“Alright, Karen—tell me something that frequently gets replaced on a car!”

“Ummm… the mirrors?”

This did not appear to be a very smart answer, and yet somehow the answer appeared among the top five of some kind of overall results. The most obvious explanation was that everyone shown was so terrible at operating motor vehicles they had to replace their broken-off mirrors often. Maybe that was the appeal of this game—to watch teams of perhaps the most foolish and ignorant specimens of humanity put these attributes on display to amuse the audience.

It felt its head bob lower and awoke with a start—panic shooting through it as it realized it had started to drowse mid-watch. But there was… something wrong? No, not wrong; different. There was a slight warmth and pressure up against its side, and the arm on that side was propped up on a low, soft object.

Mr. X started to move the arm to try and find the flat surface of the couch again, but froze as his palm bumped instead on the frail shoulders of the small girl. It craned its neck down fraction by fraction, trying not to move any other muscles; Mariposa had, beneath its notice, crawled up onto the open section of couch beside the bioweapon, wedging her tiny frame under its limp forearm and nestling her head into the crease and folds of its Limiter coat where its waist met its lap. As if the monstrosity’s leg was a comfy pillow. T-00 blinked as its bleary thoughts woke up further in order to race to the logical conclusion: It had clearly not just “started” to doze off… a sting of unease lit up in its chest and its hackles rose at the thought it had lapsed in this duty. It was supposed to protect her—if she had left the house again—or if that was the moment a rival company sent their agent—or if by pure accident she had gotten injured or threatened—

Ramirez’s daughter suddenly shifted in her sleep, more onto her back, and as she did so her slender arms grasped up and ended up around the Tyrant’s arm. She was utterly dwarfed by the limb alone, and even the tight hug she had around it was barely making it through his tough sleeve and even tougher skin. Regardless, Mr. X could feel it, and the change had jarred him out of the panic spiral. The Tyrant’s heavily-wrinkled face softened up, and it studied its charge for a moment to ensure she was safe and well. It settled down once more, noting the low angle of the orange-gold sunlight streaking in through the kitchen windows; it estimated the time to be well over an hour later than Dr. Ramirez had said he would return. Its eyes flicked over to the child’s backpack hanging over the backrest of the chair, then to the wind rustling through the Pampas grass outside the window, and then the color and light of the vapid programming still on in the background.

Ramirez did not return until it was almost dark, and aside from the façade of a bright and attentive reunion with Mariposa that he’d plastered over his clearly exhausted and aggravated inner feelings, the man did not linger on the surprise long absence and instead started throwing together something he’d called “mac and cheese”. Mariposa did not seem enthused, but she tolerated her father’s lazy cooking—especially since she had secretly pilfered the ice cream earlier. The doctor snappishly ordered Mr. X to take up a sentry position outside and leave them to their family time; the Tyrant grudgingly obeyed, shooting a pointed glance down at the lower cabinet where the nutrient gel base was stored but its yearning being ignored. It supposed it would have to wait another few hours. Very unfair, considering it had pulled so much additional weight that day. The bioweapon snorted once it was prowling its usual route in the dark. It was hungry, not starving. There was no danger in waiting a little longer. Mr. X would abide.

#Mr. X #Mr X #resident evil #Tyrant #T-00 #T-103 #re2 #resident evil 2 #fanfiction #fanfic #Umbrella #B.O.W.#part 4 #Dr. Julian Ramirez #Mariposa Ramirez #a mix of the events of RE1 and other prequel games going on far away #also fluff #as fluffy as dangerous biomutant living weapons get #Mr. X is bewildered at the child endangerment going on and he IS the child endangerment

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